


The Ripple Effect - A Captain Swan Tale

by TheDarkDragonfly



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, And it's AMAZING, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Light Angst, Love Stories, Season 3 Finale, Season 3 divergent, They have each other, Time Travel, True Love, and they fall in love, but!, so theyre stuck in the past, they cant get back home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 62,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28233894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkDragonfly/pseuds/TheDarkDragonfly
Summary: Cannon Divergent - Season 3 finale. So many feels.Emma & Killian are trapped in the past, unable to get back to the future. Will they be able to find a home with each other?A tale of a broken wand, a far away land, and two lost souls destined to find a home with each other ❤️
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 185
Kudos: 178





	1. Out in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I'm so excited to share this tale with you!  
> I've always been interested in the idea of what would have happened to Killian and Emma if they had not been able to go home in the season 3 finale.  
> Without the complications of SB hanging over them and with some actual time spent together, how would their relationship progressed?  
> Well, this is my interpretation of that story. 
> 
> Love,  
> Dragonfly ⚓🦢

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

“He means to kill us.” Killian’s voice was laced with fear and anger as it lashed out from him into the large room. Rumple watched them; a cat toying with his prey. After everything Emma and he had done, how far they had come and the future he wished so fervently for, after all that they had survived, both of them - alone and together - it had come down to this. He was to face off against this vile creature once more, one more battle, one more woman whose very existence depended on him. 

His cutlass was sure and steady in his grasp as he drew it forward, the Crocodile would never take her from him. 

“Now why would I do that?” the imp laughed, a sickly giggle which had haunted Killian’s heart for centuries. Fear gnawed at him, sharpening his senses, adding the taste of quicksilver on his tongue. Without hesitation, he reached out to grab Emma, hook snagging her jacket to pull her protectively behind his body, the useless fairy wand still clutched in her grasp, eyes wide. He would not be separated from her. 

The sickly skinned demon giggled again, amused with his angry distress. 

“No no no, Captain. I’m going to put you both somewhere safe. Somewhere you can’t interfere anymore with my plans.” Rumples voice changed, sounding low and ominous as he raised his hands in a gesture Killian was uncomfortably familiar with. 

“No! Wait, you-” Emma gasped in horror, moving to step around him and face the monster head on. He had a moment of sudden clarity, enough to sheath his blade, drop the woman off his shoulder and turn; gripping Emma to him with a force that pushed the breath from his lungs. Black smoke circled them, her hands darted out, grabbing the back of his long coat, fingers digging into the leather, tight shudders wracking her frame, her face buried in the lapels of his coat. Crackling sparks whirled around them; lightning in a storm of darkness. 

He couldn’t breathe. Emma pressed tightly to him; his only concern. She was crying, screaming into his chest; angry and terrified. The lightning intensified until it blinded him. So different then the portal, or any other thing he had ever been trapped in. Killian bent his face to Emma’s head, and spoke urgently to her - doubting greatly that she could hear him over his hammering heart and the violent maelstrom of magic they stood in the eye of - uttering promises he would die to keep, a promise to never leave her, to get her home, to find her family again. He whispered into her hair that she would never be alone again. Never be lost. He was here with her, he would never stop fighting for her. His voice turned harsh, he poured every ounce of conviction and power behind those words. He needed her to hear them, feel them. Know the truth of them, for they were the very beating of his heart. 

The ground seemed to rise up around them, the soft sharpness of pine needles tickling his throat, along with a salt fresh taste he would know anywhere. Emma was still clutched to his front, hands gripping him and the wand tightly, knuckles white and angry. There was no grand entrance into this new unknown; no hard landing, no scrambling for purchase on unfamiliar soil. They simply materialized, the lightning a faint snap-hiss around them, circling once, twice more, before fading as quickly as it arrived taking the last remnants of Dark Magic with it. 

His heart raced still, so many years of instinct which had kept him alive and one step ahead flared to life; stronger now for the presence of the small, heartbroken woman clutched to his chest. 

“Where are we?” Emma’s voice was muffled still by his coat, slightly hoarse from screaming. 

He shook his head at a loss. He didn’t know where - or even when - they were. He did know that the Dark One’s magic couldn’t cross realms. So unless they somehow engaged the wand, they were likely trapped in a place Emma always called Fairy Tale Land. To him, it had never truly been home. 

“I’m not sure, love.” He whispered, waiting for her grasp on his back to loosen so that he could take in their surroundings. It took her another moment, but her fingers slackened from the back of his coat and she stepped away leaving him suddenly chilled and hollow. 

She sucked in a quick breath, staring down at her clenched fist, wand still tightly held there. 

“Swan?” he called urgently. _Was she hurt?_

Emma kept her eyes on her hand, opening it slowly, breathing stuttered and shallow. The wand topled from her grasp and fell to the forest floor, laying in two pieces, split neatly in half from the force of their journey through the storm cloud of Dark Magic. “It broke,” she whispered, kneeling in the dirt and grabbing the pieces in both hands; she looked up at him for help - though he had nothing to give her, except… he knelt down beside her, and took the damaged wand carefully, hand covering hers. There was nothing either of them could do to fix it here - but perhaps there was a way to mend it. If Dark Magic had broken it, perhaps Light Magic could repair it. 

He stood after a moment, touching her elbow with his hook and bringing her with him. “We’ll mend it, Swan. Let’s keep it safe, aye?” 

He shifted the satchel which still hung over his shoulder, intent on keeping the fairy wand safe inside, but as it moved he noted the weight of it was wrong. He stiffened and pulled it across his chest. He knew, without opening it - which he did anyway - that the storybook was missing. Clawed fingers of dread wrapped themselves around his heart, as surely as if the Dark One himself had pulled the organ from his chest. _Gone._

Emma was glancing around still, oblivious to his current state of intense worry. He needed to tell her; however, adding to the burden she already carried would do possibly more harm than good, but to keep the secret from her for even a moment longer felt spectacularly wrong, deceitful and traitorous. It would erode the peaceful easiness they had found, here together in a world that was not their own. “Emma, love,” he whispered, pulling her attention away from the quiet surroundings. Her brow pinched further at his expression, words clipped and nervous. He held the bag, void of the cumbersome weight, out for her. Words stuck in his throat. Without the book, they would have no indication on the state of her family - or of their world in general. The future would continue or, most frightening, suddenly stop and take her from him. Killian’s breathing increased, hand closing into a tight fit. _No._ He would not allow that to happen. Emma was still staring at the open mostly empty bag, breathing quickening in worry. 

The Dark One would protect his future, if only for the sake of seeing Baelfire again as Emma had promised him he would. Of that he was innocavicably certain. Dark One lied. Dark One tricked, to be sure, but he was also by nature a selfish creature and would stop at nothing to ensure his future in Bae’s world. So, following that logic, Emma’s existence - as it wrapped up in the whole mess - would be ensured. 

“It’s gone,” she whispered, fingers tracing the leather stitched edge lightly. 

“Perhaps-” he started, voice tight, and swallowed. “Perhaps, it has gone back to where it belongs.” 

“To Henry?” 

“It’s possible.” Though it was, at best, a faint hope - the possibility of her family was right now in her parent’s loft, concerned after days of their disappearance, pouring over the book in hopes of finding some clue as to where their daughter was. Planning how to retrieve her. 

“Yeah. I guess. Okay, well,” she shrugged largely, as if attempting to shed the burden of worry and gut wrenching helplessness that hung around them. “Since we’re stuck here, we need a plan.” Chin rising slightly, in tight control of herself once more. Let her keep her walls for now, he thought, climbing back behind his, letting an easy smirk - several lifetimes of practice had it sliding across his face in a moment - settle on his features. 

“Well, first thing is first. You,” he leveled her with a darkly thick raised brow, “need a dress again.” 

“God damn it,” she breathed, face more sullen with the reality of yet more time spent in a corset. “I hate those things.” And just like that, they fell back into the quiet of the days before. 

He laughed quietly in spite of himself. What an absolute bastard of a man, that Rumple was. To send her away from her home yet again. To not even try. His fist curled. But, they were together and they still had a chance. 

* * *

They walked for hours. Whatever place they landed in, it was far less inhabited than would be useful. They did eventually happen upon a small farm, and though Emma protested - albeit weakly - they were able to nic a dress and cloak from the small house. The garment was unoriginal and wouldn’t attract any additional attention - though Killian had been by Emma’s side in this world and in hers; regardless of dress, she was a woman who made you want to watch her. She drew attention wherever she went - intentionally or not. 

“Ugh,” she complained. Fighting with the back laces. “I miss zippers already,” she hissed. 

“Come on, Swan.” 

She growled. Arms tiring and fingers slow, unaccustomed still to the tightening and twisting needed to secure her into the garment. “I can’t lace up this stupid dress.” She was on the verge of tears; frustrated, angry tears. He must have heard it in her voice and he stepped quietly around the evergreen bow she had been using for a screen. “Here,” he offered quietly. “Turn around, love. I’ll get them.” 

She sniffed and turned, happy to hide her glassy eyes from him for a moment longer. His fingers made quick work of what had taken her ages to half do, and she slumped slightly against the light pull of the ties back towards him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered when he announced she was finished. He didn’t answer, but rested his palm on her waist for a moment, holding her steady, his breath moving across the crown of her head. It was intensely intimate, and the whole forest around them seemed to be holding its breath. But as quickly as it came on, the moment was over all at once. Killian stepped back to simply hold his hand out, palm up, to her. She gripped onto his fingers, much warmer than hers, and allowed him to pull her further deep into the woods, away from where they came. 

He was worried, she could tell, though he was doing a fair job of hiding it. The set of his shoulders was tense. Not knowing where - and when - they were, and having no direct plan for darkening evening, he felt the weight of having her exposed and possibly in danger out in the open like this. Last night, they had bedded down around the fire with her parents, as awkward as that was. Tonight, they were alone again - and much worse off this time around. 

Conversation lightened the deeper into the woods they went. Emma watching the ground more than anything, wary of stray roots and rocks. Killian was more natural on the rough terrain, a fact which both intrigued and irritated her. Though she mused as she watched him easily navigate a side slope with ease, he had lived on uneven ground his whole life, the pitch and yaw of ships in his blood. 

“I felt it,” she offered, distracted by her own thoughts. She remembered the feeling of thick, dark magic - so different from her own - surrounding them, could smell the rich leather of Killian’s coat as he held her fast to his chest against the rising tide of blackness. Cold washed over her, the sensation coupled with the sting of harsh snow on her face, she _knew_ in her core that they did not want to end up where he intended them to go. 

“Felt what, love?” He pushed yet another blasted branch out of the way, holding it up for her to pass underneath.

“I felt where he was trying to send us.”

 _Interesting_ , Killian mused as he glanced at her, picking her way over the shallow end of a log, ‘borrowed’ dress hiked up as high as she could. “And where was that?” 

“I don’t know. It was cold. Full of snow, I felt the flakes on my face. All I could think of was that we couldn’t go there - it wasn’t safe.” She hopped the rest of the way over the downed tree, “And now we’re here,” she finished with a stiff shrug which bellied the tone of her voice; forced casualness with just a hint of stress. Not dissimilar to how she had sounded when he had brought her home from New York - what felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Perhaps whatever magic was used to send us away to this place listened to you, Swan. Here, over that way. There’s a road.” 

She wouldn’t have seen it, the white lightning that had whipped around them when the Dark One cast them away, she had buried her face in his chest and held on with a clamoring desperation that had surprised him in its intensity. Perhaps her magic wasn’t truly gone afterall… 

* * *

The road was rutted and well traveled, they had scrambled off the track several times over the last few hours, hiding from various riders and wagons. No carriages had passed them. They risked only stepping off the road during one interaction, and received a simple head nod in acknowledgement from the rider. “Seems we are of no interest, Swan,” Killian mused quietly, careful to keep his hook hidden in the folds of his coat as they nodded back, smiling blandly. 

“It’s getting dark.” She had only really just noticed, lost in her thoughts as she was. 

“Aye. I had hoped to come across a town…” he trailed off, turning again at the sound of hoofbeats behind them, he pulled her to his left side, closest to the forest, lest he needed to push her into the underbrush and fight off an attack - a fact which was not lost on her, though she kept quiet about it for the time being. 

“Hello there,” Killian called cheerfully, hook tucked away from view - they didn’t know where they were, and therefore were unsure how far his reputation had carried, or even if this land had been at his mercy. 

“Hallo,” The young man called, pulling his mount up to stop beside them. Emma slumped slightly, they spoke English here. She had feared since they started their quest for lodging that there would be a language barrier they would struggle to overcome - Google translate wasn’t available of course. 

“We’re in need of an inn, do you-” 

The man cut him off, excitedly giving them half broken directions to a small village just over a mile up the road. It wasn’t much, he had offered almost apologetically, glancing at Emma as he did, but it would be clean and comfortable for the night. They thanked him, gait swift now they had a destination ahead of them. 

* * *

His fair sized reserve of coins had bought them a clean room with a bath. A luxury he was sure Emma was far too upset to appreciate at the moment. He hadn’t pushed her. They had trudged in silence for hours this afternoon, her heart heavy and laid bare. He had ushered her in through the front door of the small tavern the passerby had recommended and settled her down at a table in the corner, leaving her for a moment to her thoughts as he inquired about rooms and dinner. 

“Good fortune, Swan,” he said as he plunked two small cups down in front of her, “They have rum.”

She offered him a small smile and his heart leapt. “And do they also have food?” she asked, smile widening against her will as he produced said rum from under his left arm in a flourish. 

“Aye.” He uncorked the bottle and sloshed the deep amber liquid into both glasses before settling beside her. “They do. And they have rooms available. We’ll stay here tonight and in the morning, we’ll start planning a way home.” 

She had nodded, clinking the small cup against his and downing the burning drink on one swallow. He kept their conversation light and once the food arrived her spirits had perked up considerably. “I don’t think we’re in the Enchanted Forest.” She spoke softly, eyes catching his before returning to her stew, she had torn up the crusty roll into small pieces and was, one by one, sinking each piece into the bowl with the back of her spoon. 

“I agree, the Dark One certainly would not have sent us merely across the forest. As his magic cannot cross realms, we must still be in the Land of Tales,” he winked at her, teasing. “But as to where - or when - I cannot say.” 

“I don’t know how to ask without sounding, well, crazy,” she muttered and finally took a bite of soggy bread out of her bowl. It didn’t look to Killian as anything remotely appetizing, but she hummed to herself the way she did when eating Granny’s onion rings, so he let her be. She was happy in this moment, and that was more than enough for him. 

“Swan.” He rested his own spoon on the lip of the bowl and turned to her, waiting until she met his gaze. “I swear to you, I will get you home.” 

Her heart skipped. _He would, she knew he would, he had never let her down before._

They ate in silence after that, both lost in thought. She grasped the neck of the rum bottle and poured them each another shot. Deja vu flitted through her limbs as she raised the glass and watched him watch her. No games this time, however. No hidden agenda and no distractions. She was done with all that. He was here and he was with her. She had spent so much of her life thus far on her own, and she was suddenly utterly grateful that he was here with her. That he had brought her home in the first place. The rum was sharper on her tongue as she swallowed and let a question burn in her mind until she couldn’t hold it any longer.

She swallowed thickly and nodded. “Killian, I-” she stopped and glanced down. They were so close sitting like this, he straddling the bench; protective, she saw that now, shielding her from the commotion of the place. He always had, she realized, and again he was waiting for her, like he always did. And that itself gave her the courage she needed - well, that and the rum. She poured and took another shot, watching from under her lashes as he did the same. “I wanted to thank you, Killian, for going back for me in the first place in New York, if you hadn’t-”

“It was the right thing to do.” His gaze intense, watching her. But still her question burned. 

“How did you do it?” she asked softly. He glanced away, embarrassed perhaps with a soft, resigned smile on his face. “How did you get to me?” She leaned closer. 

“Well, the curse was coming, so I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.” He had an air of bravado about him, a veneer which hadn’t been there moments before. There was something he wasn’t telling her. So she pressed on. 

“You out ran a curse?” 

“I’m a hell of a captain.” She laughed quietly in agreement. He was indeed, she had watched him, secretly of course, out of the corner of her eye, both to and from Neverland. Hands sure and steady on the wheel, body leaving heavily into the swells as the ship rose and fell across the waves. She had noticed his face set in grim determination, a shadow of apprehension flitting across his eyes as they drew closer that hell of a place. A place he had never wished to set foot on again - but did so, for her. She had itched to push his hair away from his forehead, plastered to it as it was with rain and wind and sea spray. She watched him watch her as well, watched the deep wave of relief sweep across his body as she gazed up at him, wet and shivering from her turn in the angry ocean. 

_Yes, he was one hell of a captain._

“And once I was outside the curses purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between the worlds was possible again, all I needed was a magic bean.”

“Those are not easy to come by.” _She would know._

“They are,” he spoke slowly, softer now, “if you have something of value to trade.” He glanced away from her. 

“And what was that?” she asked, expecting a swashbuckling tale. 

Instead he met her eyes again, bright and earnest. “Why, the _Jolly Roger_ of course.” 

Air rushed out of her lungs, she was at once flushed and freezing cold.

“You traded your ship for me?” Awe filled voice stunned, brows drawing together. 

His walls came down, all at once and all together. She watched it in his eyes. “Aye.” 

Never, not once in her whole life had anyone given up anything for her. And here he was, without ceremony, reluctantly telling her that he had given up his home - his fortress, his last physical reminder of his beloved brother - so that she could have a chance at finding hers. She pulled him to her then, his mouth soft against her own, hand resting on her cheek, rings cool against her skin. Her fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck, combing her nails through the soft strands. 

This was not Neverland. Not something hidden away and lustful. This was neither desperate or hurried. This kiss was something entirely different - and they both knew it. He stopped then, lips nipping lightly at hers, pulling back for a moment to watch her eyes, thumb tracing down her chin. He smiled shyly at her, and she him. He leaned into her once more, stronger this time, tilting her head slightly to deepen the slide of his tongue against hers. 

Time seemed to slow. There was nowhere else to be, no one to interrupt them and demand her attention. There was just him, the taste of rum on his breath and the scent of leather surrounding her. He was warm and real and here with her. And it struck her all at once how lucky she was that he was here. She had fallen through that portal, not he. He had chased her, thrown himself into the unknown after her so that she was not trapped alone in a strange land. He had followed her, keeping her safe; just like he always had. His hook was at her waist now, gentle and solid. She had one hand on his face tracing the curved scar on his cheek, the other tangled in his hair. 

And sometime later, they climbed the stairs behind the tavern keeper's wife, his hand light and warm on her back, his revelation still ringing in her ears, lips tingling still. The woman, a stout lady with greying hair and a harsh tone, handed him both keys, indicated the doors on either side of the hallway. Killian had nodded, neatly slipping a small copper coin into her hand and she pushed passed them to head back down to the bustling tavern below. 

“So...” she stopped, suddenly shy and unsure. He stepped towards her, hook catching her wrist and pulling her to him. 

“She’s bringing up water, Swan,” he nodded to the retreating figure of the woman on the stairs below them, listened to the quick issued orders as she turned to the kitchen. “I imagine,” his mouth was so close to hers, “that you’ll want a bath,” he said softly, lightly caressing an errant strand of hair, before tucking it behind her ear, smoothing his fingers down the outside shell reverently; his breath warm on her face. 

“Really?” Her voice was breathy, quiet in the darkened hallway. She did want a bath. Perhaps she could wash some of this horrible day off of her. He nodded. She placed her hands lightly on his chest. “And you?” she asked, feeling bold, bolstered by the rum and his undivided attention. He kissed her then, fueled by the unknown lurking just outside their view, for she was safe and warm and his for this moment. 

“Good night, Swan,” he breathed against her lips, releasing her carefully and pressing the key to her room into her hand. “Your bath should be ready shortly. The lass will help you with your laces should you need.” 

Her mind was clouded, slow moving. She stepped back from him, sighing. Turned, licking her lips to hide a smile and slid the large skeleton key into the lock, door squeaking open on heavy hinges. She had stepped into the shadowy room, warm from the pre-lit fire, and turned to face him again. 

“Good night, Killian.” 


	2. A Far Off Place

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

Muted light filtered in through an open window, cool air wafting across her face. Emma pulled the covers up firmly to her chin and attempted to drown out the reality of the morning. She had dimly hoped this was all a dream, perhaps she had eaten something that hadn't agreed with her at her baby brother's naming party and she was in the Storybrooke hospital recovering from a string of outlandish hallucinations brought on by intense food poisoning.

But no. There was no hospital, nor was she dreaming.

Cold reality had crashed down around her as soon as she had opened her eyes. She was trapped in the past - still. this time with no wizard to help them. Them. Killian. She sat up, wiping a hand down her face and fluffing out her tangled mane of hair. _Was he awake yet? Had he gone and left her behind?_ He had always been an early riser; " _years of Royal Navy service, love. They'd make a morning person out of even you, I'd wager,_ " he had teased her a few weeks ago when she came across him exiting Granny's, far too awake for the ungodly hour of 6:30am. Granny's bed and breakfast. Because he didn't have a ship. _Because he had traded it - for her._

She flopped back down, frustrated with herself. _No_ , she thought strongly, _he wouldn't leave_. Why did that thought keep turning in her mind? Why was she always waiting for him to leave her?

_Likely because of years of utter and complete abandonment by everyone she had ever known._

"Yeah, that's probably the winner," she uttered softly, scowling at her torture device of a dress hanging on a peg by the washstand.

The kitchen maid, who had brought several near-boiling pails of water for her bath last night, had indeed helped her with the laces, commenting that the dress should be altered to fit her better; it looked to have been made for someone smaller, and altered many times over it's life for different persons. The girl had said there wasn't much of a seam left anymore to let out - whatever that was supposed to mean- but a panel or two could likely be added. That did make her feel better about the blasted thing, maybe it wasn't actually supposed to be that awful. She would have to figure out how to let it out - or find someone to alter it.

"I'm in need of a medieval drycleaner, next day rush," she giggled stupidly to herself as she lounged in the tub, cupping handfuls of water and watching as they splashed back into the steaming pool at her knees; a round cake of milled soap and a small sponge sitting on top of a stool beside her. The girl had left two lanterns burning along with a healthily stoked fire, and the whole room glowed in an intimate, other-worldly light. The soap smelled of honey and she worked it generously over her neck and shoulders, debating for only a moment before sinking down to dunk her head below the steaming water, emerging to massage lathered suds into the soaking strands.

She had sat in the water until it had cooled too far to be enjoyable, stepping out and wrapping herself in a homespun robe the inn had graciously provided - she idly wondered how many small irregular copper coins it had cost Killian to ensure she was comfortable. _Probably far too many_ , she thought sadly, worrying her bottom lip as she scrubbed the worn soft fabric up and down her arms. She had nothing to contribute here, and being solely dependent on anybody was not something she was comfortable with.

She dragged the stool over to the fire and sat for a long while, staring into the flames, combing her fingers through damp hair. It dried slowly this way; wavy and thick with the smell of honey lightly woven through it. When she finally climbed into bed, she felt better than she had in days, even with the unknown future rolling out ahead of her, she knew she wasn't alone anymore. She was with a man who would follow her through time itself, give up his home for her, and gift her a steaming bath with fine milled soap when her world was falling apart. He had been right, she needed a bath. A quiet moment of self care. He had known - somehow - and found a way to give her what she so desperately desired.

Deciding she could hide from the world no longer, Emma pulled herself out of bed, limbs sleep-logged and slow, only to come to another problem. She couldn't do the laces of that horrible dress back up herself. _Just fucking perfect_ , she grumbled and she pulled the scratchy cotton shift over her head, tying the ribbon off around the neck of the garment before knotting the robe tightly around herself again. It had dried from her bath last night and was warm from the still smoldering fire, where she had left it on top of the stool.

Clutching the key to her room tightly in her grasp in case the heavy door automatically locked behind her, she opened the door and peeked into the hallway. The tavern was quiet below her, and while she was hardly a boy scout, she knew it must be nearing mid morning.

_Did Fairy Tale Land hotels have check out times?_

Killian's door was directly across from hers, and she stepped lightly across the cool, hand sawn floorboards to knock softly. "Killian?" She called, knocking again. _What was she doing_? She could have at least put the dress on before coming to ask for his help, but before she had a chance to flee back to her room from her foolish errand, his door was pulled open.

"Emma," his eyes scanned her person before glancing around, looking for danger - because why else would she be here, half dressed in the hallway outside his room? "Are you alright?"

She nodded, distracted by his haphazard appearance. He stood before her, chest exposed as if he had thrown a shirt on quickly to open the door and had not had time to button it, hand grasping his cutlass, hair a mess of strands as if he had fallen asleep with it still damp.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry," she stuttered, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"It's alright, Swan," he whispered, speaking slowly as if to a cornered wild thing.

They stood staring at each other for a long moment, until her feet began to tingle with cold from the polished boards under her and she suddenly remembered why she had sought him out.

"My dress!" she blurted. He raised his eyebrow, that infuriatingly sexy, stupid eyebrow, and leaned his sword against the wall inside his room. "It doesn't fit me," she finished lamely, eyes catching on the loose-hanging sleeve of his left side, as he turned for a moment away from her. He didn't have his hook on, she realized. She had never seen him without it before. "I was hoping there was someone who could, I don't know..." she was flustered again as he stood back to face her, watching her slowly freak out in the hallway outside his room.

"We'll get you a new dress, Emma," he murmured softly, offering her a small smile and extending his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment before taking hold of his fingers, letting him pull her to him. He felt solid, and warm, and _safe_ , and she dropped her shoulders, relaxing into him as much as she could. "It's okay, lass. I have you." A stammering sob caught in her chest at his words and the turmoil of the last few days caught up with her once again.

"Arg." she breathed out, face tucked into his neck. He hummed against her, holding her steady with his right arm while his left hung to his side, shying away like a dirty, rotten thing he was trying his best to keep from touching her. _No_! She thought vehemently, _no_. She would not allow him to feel like that, to feel less around her, and she reached down to gently take hold of his left forearm, raising it to her chest and tucking the blunted wrist into her throat, pressing the underside of her chin against the scarred flesh.

"I don't usually cry like this... it must be the stress," she said by way of a lame explanation; truly she had shed more tears these last four days with him than she had in the last four years.

She glanced up, hoping she hadn't offended him by touching his wrist without permission, but his mouth was open slightly and his eyes had a far away glassy look to them. He looked like someone who had believed something painful for a long time, only to have it disproven. He wasn't breathing.

"It certainly has been a stressful few days, there's no harm in feeling it," he murmured, tucking his head finally to lay his cheek against her forehead. He slowly relaxed somewhat, left arm still motionless and tense in her grip, breath evening out, deep and deliberate. _And he didn't pull away._

They stayed this way for a few moments longer, both content to be quiet and safe in this time of turmoil. He squeezed her gently to him and asked, voice still hushed, "did you need something, Swan?"

"I need help with my laces, but I didn't think to actually put the dress on before I came to ask," she smirked softly, letting herself be just a tad more vulnerable than she was comfortable with.

"Ah, well, that," he smiled down at her, "I would be happy to assist you with."

She tucked her lips in again and grinned. "I'll go put it on, give me a minute?"

"As you wish," he squeezed her lightly and released her, watching as the door across from him closed with a quiet click. He sagged against the doorframe, body racked with shivers, his blood pounding in his ears. He raised his left arm and massaged the scarred bluted end with his good hand; the ghost of her touch still burning against his flesh.

Emma Swan would be his undoing, of that, he was entirely certain.

* * *

The stolen dress did not fit her in the slightest, laces chaffed into her skin as he secured it, pulling the stays only as far as he needed to in order to keep the dress from slipping off of her frame, hoping to give her a small measure of relief from the confines of the garment as best he could.

His hand had trembled slightly as he stepped inside her room; the fire was still warming the room with the dry heat of kept embers, the bedsheets were rumbled on one side and the clear indent from her head in the centre of the pillow caused his heart rate to tick up. He chastised himself and he gestured for her to turn around, offering him her laces as she pulled her hair aside.

He was hardly inexperienced, but this was no ordinary lass, and no matter how firmly he tried to clamp down on himself, his fingers stumbled several times as he knotted the worn ribbons through the small eyelets. This was, perhaps, the single most intimate interaction he had ever shared with a woman, and the weight of it had the hair on his arms prickling with anticipation. It was as if a current ran through his body, he was lightheaded and alive all at once.

She had opened the door a crack and ushered him in with a hurried wave - as if she had not just been standing half clothed with him in that very hallway moments before. He muttered several apologies as she stiffened under his ministrations, stoically trying to keep from flinching as the rough cotton of the shift chaffed her skin as the laces pulled taunt.

* * *

It turned out, when you paid with silver coins, check-out was whenever you wanted it to be. So they ate a quiet lunch and walked around the small hamlet, ducking into a few shops for supplies. Loaded down with food (that Killian assured her would keep without a fridge - she wasn't all that convinced, but she shrugged and followed his lead), a few bits of ribbon - _for your hair Swan_ he had blushed profusely, another flask filled with whiskey, and new, warmer stockings for her feet.

She had argued lamely that she didn't need new stockings, the ones she had pinched from the farm were fine, and that it was frivolous to waste money on them. Killian had sighed deeply with the air of a man who had suffered this type of interaction for years and was bone tired of it.

She had been about to argue again that he wasn't buying anything for himself, as even the flask was to share, when he cut her off with a kiss that surprised her into silence. He took the opportunity to explain, slowly as if talking to a very small child, that she would feel differently about stockings if her toes fell off from cold. And since he had sworn to her that he would keep her safe and well, he certainly couldn't let her feet fall off, could he?

She had been tempted to stick her tongue out at him, as juvenile as that was, but she settled for rolling her eyes and playing with the end of her hair that she had secured in one of her new ribbons, while he bartered their purchase with the shopkeeper.

After a series of inquiries, they found the current village had no seamstress, but the next town over had a reputable one and once a few additional supplies had been packed into the shoulder bag, they were one their way again.

The land they were in was called DunBroch, and Killian has only visited the large port town on the southern side once or twice, and only out of necessity of repairs. "Trade routes in these parts aren't that profitable to pillage," he explained, tossing a stone in the air and catching it as they ambled down the road. The weather was brisk but warming as they went, and today felt lighter, with a hopeful atmosphere. They had a destination ahead of them, and the choking feeling of dread that had welled up randomly in her chest since they crash landed in the Enchanted Forest was starting to loosen - marginally.

"Where did you most like to sail to?" she asked, kicking a stone with the toe of her boot, watching as it skipped and skittered sideways into the underbrush beside them.

He was quiet for a moment, still holding the stone lightly. He flushed, cheeks colouring faintly as he scratched behind his ear. "I like the open sea," he answered at last. "Ports are fine, required. Supplies, repairs and such," he nodded to himself. "But the sea is where I am most free."

They were quiet for a long while after that. He was lost in memory, she herself consumed with the depth of his sacrifice for her.

They came upon the next town well before dinner time, the bustling streets a far cry from the quiet sleepiness of the village they had spent the previous night.

They tried three taverns before happening across a small inn down a side alleyway, which had room available for them for the night. The tap room was rowdy and it set Killian's teeth on edge. He was tempted to try their luck somewhere else, but Emma was tugging on her dress, a pained expression she had spent a great deal of energy trying to conceal, pinching her features, and he knew they needed to stop for the day.

"Aye, we have rooms," the heavy set man behind the bar sneered at him; sizing him up, quick beady eyes flicking over his coat, past the necklace charms he had worn for nearly his whole life, over the rings adorning his hand and finally down to the cutlass perched at his hip, lethal and heavy.

They had watched as he had pushed into the smoke-filled space, maneuvering Emma gently towards a table by the fire. She was frozen through again, hands like ice. The man behind the bar and two patrons several stools down from him had turned, interest peaked, and were watching her now again. Visitors always attracted attention, it hadn't bothered him before, he had used it to his advantage, but now things were different. Now he had to keep her safe.

The man's gaze traveled across Killian towards where Emma sat against the wall; hands clasped together, trying to warm herself by the flame. Killian sidestepped, placing himself back in front of the man's wandering gaze, blocking Emma from his view.

They should have found someplace else.

"Will you be needin' one room or…'' his voice trailed off again, eyes flicking back over Killian's shoulder. _Enough of this._ He rested his hook heavily on the bar, eyes narrowing in warning. "Two?" the man finished, looking down at the dangerous appendage sitting menacingly in front of him.

"One," Killian snarled, voice low. They would sort it out later, but he certainly wasn't leaving her alone in this place, especially not during the night - it wouldn't be his first night in a chair or on the floor, and likely not his last.

The man swallowed thickly, looking more contrite than he had moments ago. "Very well."

Killian placed a small silver coin on the wooden top and touched the end of his hook to it, sliding the piece slowly towards the man, eyes never leaving his face. "And the name of a seamstress, my lady requires a warmer cloak," he stressed the title, voice raising slightly to catch the attention of the barman's stounchy companions.

He sauntered back towards her, she watched him with a bemused expression, until he reached her side, sliding in to straddle the bench, knees touching hers. "Well, Captain?" she asked, mouth twitching, she was teasing him, he was sure of it. And it lightened something inside his chest that he hadn't known was there.

He placed a thick warm slice of fresh loaf slashed in fruit preserve in front of her, and took a bite of his own. "Eat up, Swan. We have supplies to procure."

* * *

Her borrowed dress was beyond salvaging, the seamstress tutted and hummed as she poked her here and there, turning her this way and that, peering at the fraying seams with shrewd attention.

"Got yer coppers worth out of this one, sweetling. But there's little left to work with now," words muffled slightly through the lips pursed, holding sewing pins at the ready. "You'll need a new 'un. Back or front laces my dear?" the woman took the pins out of her mouth long enough to ask.

Oh, she hadn't given that any thought, front would be a great deal more practical, but if they were in the back then…

"Back, please. Thank you," she'd examine that decision later. _Maybe_.

The state of the dress was terrible really, the fabric was worn and old, clearly having been reworked one too many times to be helpful now. But luckily, the shop had several pieces in various states of completion, and it wasn't long before Emma emerged, grey cloak trimmed in fur wrapped around her shoulders, a parcel clutched to her chest and a promise of the nearly finished deep green dress which had fit her perfectly, awaiting her the next morning.

She had been coerced into purchasing three new chemises once the woman had gotten a glimpse of her current one; she practically forbade her from wearing it any longer. Two had been wrapped up to take with her and she was stuffed into the other for immediate wear, along with a floor length robe like the one she had used the night before, more stockings, thick woolen socks and random bits of cloth the woman hadn't asked if she wanted, simply winked at her knowingly while she bundled them in the package. She would unwrap them later tonight alone in her room and figure out what they were.

It had seemed wrong, spending his money without him there, and on such things as socks, but she would get an earful if she came back without necessities and he had been right in any case - they had nothing here, and until they figured out how to fix the wand and restart her magic to get home, there were items they needed, items like socks and pretty ribbons for her hair.

Killian had pushed two silver pieces into her hand, giving her a look that dared her to argue, and told her to purchase a new dress, something warm to travel in - their journey was far from over and he couldn't stand to watch her freeze any longer - and anything else the shopkeeper suggested she need.

She tugged the warm fur against her face as she stepped off the doorway and into the bustling street. It was decadently soft and the long cape-like garment wrapped around her, secured with small wooden buttons down the front to hold it together against the wind. The woman has assured her it was warm enough to withstand the winter, which didn't sound appealing.

Her eyes found him immediately, leaning against a hitch rail, hand grasping a burlap parcel - the errand he had needed to run while she was turned into a life-size dress up doll. He had not yet noticed her, gaze fixed over his shoulder looking out towards the edge of town. He was causing a contained flutter; Emma watched as several townspeople - all women - flocked and fawned to catch his eye. She wasn't jealous.

She picked her way across the street, flitting to his side and pressed a small kiss on the underside of his jaw. Knowing without looking that the hopeful faces of his admirers had sulked away. His gaze was amused - he knew exactly what she was doing.

"Alright, Swan?"

She nodded, smirking back at him. "Alright, Captain."

"You got more than this lovely cloak, I hope," he offered her his arm as they made their way back to the inn for the night.

"I have to come back tomorrow and pick up the rest, but yes, I got everything you ordered," she responded, a cheeky smile tugging at her mouth as her fingers played with the large cuff on his coat.

She was teasing him, _and he loved it_.

* * *

"I think it's stew from here on out, lass," he laughed quietly in her ear as the barmaid hustled off to the kitchen to bring dinner. "No grilled cheese sandwiches, I'm afraid."

"I'm guessing," she took a small sip of the whiskey - no rum tonight - and tried to appreciate the warming burn as it slid down her throat, "there's no onion rings either, huh?"

He laughed, "I imagine not, no. Perhaps you could introduce them here." He was beautiful when he laughed. Younger. Carefree. She had only ever seen him this way with her.

"Maybe I will. I'll be the Onion Ring Queen of Fairy Tale Land. Royalties and everything." She tossed her head dramatically, causing her hair to fan around her. She had unwound the ribbon after they sat down, tucking it into the pocket on his coat so she didn't lose it. She was feeling slightly drunk, though she was still nursing her first glass, with the heat from the fire having been replaced by the heat from his body, his coat open and dramatic, the charms around his neck making her fingers itch to grasp them.

"You look lovely Emma. And warm."

"I am, thank you. I'm not sure when I'll be able to pay you back but-"

"You don't need to pay me back, love. We're here. Together. We'll take care of each other, alright?"

She swallowed the sizable lump that caught in her throat, hand rising to rest her palm against his stubbled cheek, tracing the small scar that curved across it.

"I was surprised you were still asleep when I knocked this morning, you're usually up annoyingly early," she had meant to tease him, to fall back into the familiar territory of the past few days, away from this overwhelming feeling of having found exactly what she had always wanted. But her voice came out in a hushed breath and she was still stroking his cheek.

"I had breakfast in my room this morning, just in case..." He trailed off, leaning into her palm, stubble scratching lightly under her nails.

Oh. He hadn't left his room at all, hadn't wanted her to think that he had gone.

"I'm glad you did."

"Aye," he poured them each another shot without taking his eyes from hers, the deep smoky liquid like fire in the bottle between them. "As am I."

They drank to that.

"Sir," a small boy interrupted them, voice timid, lean hungry face tight with fright.

"Aye lad?"

"Your room is ready sir." Wide eyes rested on Killian's hook and he took a half step back, casting his face in the light of the fire. A large bruise, days old, bloomed across the boy's face, still angry black in the centre, fading yellow around the edges. Emma's breath caught, her face set in a grim line. Killian's blood rushed, he had been a boy like this once; beaten, hungry and scared.

"Well, if you would kindly show us the way, we'd be much obliged," he smiled kindly, keeping his breathing in check. It would not be wise to cause a scene, and they couldn't take the lad with them in any case. Emma stood, hands gripping the bundle of clothes she had gotten that afternoon, as well as the cloak which she had perched beside her when she sat down, and followed him quietly as the boy led them up the stairs. At the landing, the boy produced a key from his small hand and raised it to Killian, pointing to the closed door to their left. "Thank you, lad."

"You alright?" she asked as they watched the young boy scamper away, copper coin Killian had given him tucked securely into his boot. It was a loaded question, she already knew he wasn't - she felt the same way. But the tension in his shoulders was straining against the seam of his coat and she needed to say something, do something to try to make it better. He opened the door, jaw set, eyes dark and ushered her inside.

"No. I am not alright. But I…" he said as the door latched shut securely behind them and gestured helplessly.

She went to him immediately, hands grasping his biceps as she said in a hollow voice, "I know. I don't know how to help him, though. What can we do?"

He shook his head. How many children had he seen in his lifetime; abandoned, abused and discarded? And when would it stop ripping him apart? "I don't know, Swan."

They unloaded themselves slowly, the crackle of the fire casting a peacefulness onto the room once more. Emma set her parcel down on the bed, cloak beside it; finally able to take a look around, surveying the modest space and watching Killian shrug off his long coat, hanging it one of the pegs by the door. She hadn't paid much attention when they had entered together, the young child with the large bruise taking up most of their attention, but now…

"Let me guess, there was only one room?" she said softly, grinned over at him, her cheeks reddening as she did so. Her eyes were bright, attempting to lighten his heavy mood with a light tease.

Stopping in his task of unbuttoning the vest to add it to the peg with his coat, his face scrunched with confusion for a moment, "no," he said softly, resigned and bashful, "they had two, and if you aren't comfortable-"

"No, this is fine." It was, with the raucous noise below them and the small boy's face still haunting her, she probably wouldn't have slept well alone anyway.

"You're sure? I don't want you to think…" he trailed off, hand making a vague gesture.

"It's fine, this isn't the most," she paused as she fought with the knot tied into the string holding her purchase together, " _reputable_ establishment. Ha!" she cried triumphantly as she picked the fastening free at last. "It's probably safer this way." Emma continued, placing the stockings together on a pile and reaching for the silky fabric of the first chemise. "Having me here to protect you, I mean."

"Is that right, Swan?" she hadn't heard him move, but his breath was in her ear, stubble scratching lightly against her throat. She felt slightly giddy again, the spell-like feeling which had come over them downstairs was starting to rekindle, alone in their room, and she had to stop herself from leaning back into him; warm and solid and here.

She hummed an affirmative, shifting forward to fold the chemise into a small square. "Lot's of unsavory characters in this place."

"Indeed," he murmured, sliding a small leather roll out in front of her, pressing it into her hand as he lifted the second chemise from her light grip. The fabric was light and silken between his fingers, and the heat from both her body at his front and the now roaring fire behind him was making him lightheaded. "I got you something."

"You didn't need to, Killian. You already got me all of this," she looked at him over her shoulder, close enough to kiss her again if he wished - which he did, but the small furrow between her eyes needed tending first. He knew her, perhaps not as well as he would like to, not yet, but he knew her well enough. And what she needed right now was to not feel helpless and dependent. "We both need a few things to get us through, Swan. Including this." He backed away from her, keeping his hook on her waist but giving her a bit of space.

The blacksmith shop he had found was a true gem. Far from a port that would require barrel straps and rigging repairs, the smith was a hearty man who enjoyed all manner of creative projects. The knives were perfectly balanced with a wide guard; he wasn't sure what Emma's experience with small blades was, and he wasn't taking any chances with a straight blade. Once he had found the pair of them, the smith's wife, a tad overly helpful perhaps, was able to produce the rest of the items, pouting slightly when he picked up the comb.

Slowly turning to face him, she sank down on the bed, package held in her hand as she untied the loose reef knot he had tied with the leather straps, and unfurled the roll onto her lap. "Oh, these are beautiful," she whispered, carefully pulling the twin set of knives from their sheath at the topside. She glanced up at him and he nodded, silently encouraging her to keep going. A small set of long-nosed sheers was next, followed by a pair of needles, long and sharp. The last piece was something more… special. Her fingers traced the ivy pattern on the handle of the wide toothed silver comb. "Killian…" she swallowed thickly, trailing off as she held it closer to her chest.

She wasn't used to gifts, that much was clear. They made her uncomfortable and twitchy. He knelt down in front of her, and pulled one of the knives from the roll. "There is no tanner in town, but we'll find one," he said softly. "They'll be able to make you a sheath for your boot. I want you to carry one of these at all times." She nodded, watching as he balanced the small blade on the side of his hand. "We'll practice with them - have you tried before?" Her eyes were wide and dark as emeralds in the shadowy room as she shook her head, still not having spoken. "Well, we'll practice on the road when we move on in a few days. Trees make excellent targets," he smiled gently.

A crash from below them in the taproom caused her to startle, shoulders jumping and head whipping towards the door, as if expecting some evil to come crashing through at any moment. "We might be in for a long night of that sort, Swan," he sighed and stood, holding out his hand to her, "I'll help you with your dress."

"I'll be happy to never put this thing on again," she sighed happily as he picked the small bows loose, slackening the stays enough for her to peel herself out of it. As he worked his way down her back, the shift beneath peeked out, and it was certainly not the homespun one he had caught a glimpse of this morning. Like the garments folded neatly on the bed, this one was soft, silky almost and tantalizingly close to his fingers. He finished pulling them apart and stood for half a heartbeat before lowering his head to place a small kiss over the shoulder of her shift, next to her throat. Her breath hitched and she turned in his arms, catching his mouth as she did. Her hands rested on his back, feeling the faint long-healed scars from a lifetime ago through his shirt. He had shed his vest when she had unpacked and the press of her tightly to him was heedy.

She pulled back after a long moment, nipping gently at his bottom lip as she did. "Turn around," she ordered quietly, and the pirate in him recognized the challenge in her voice. When he raised a brow at her instead, she pushed him lightly, smiling. "Turn around, I need to get changed."

"Am I not allowed to watch, then?" he asked, leering at her, teasing.

"Not this time," she replied saucily and started untying the heavy skirts from her waist, chin raised enjoying the way his eyes lit up. Killian acquiesced but not without uttering a deep sigh, and spun back to the fireplace, lighting the candle perched on the mantel. There was a rustle of thick bedding as he dared to turn back to her. His heart stopped for a moment watching her. Sunk down into the deep mattress, covers tucked carefully across her chest, she was braiding her hair in a thick, lumpy braid, and she had never been more beautiful. "Oh, shit," she cursed quietly when she reached the ends of her hair. "I put my ribbon in your coat pocket, could you bring it to bed with you?"

He hid his surprise well; he had centuries of practice after all. But no amount of time would have prepared him for Emma Swan inviting him into her bed. "Fair's fair then, love. Close your eyes."

"What? Why?" she frowned and it made him want to kiss her all the more.

"Because," he started unbuttoning his shirt slowly. "I need to get changed."

Her mouth fell open into an adorably astonished expression but she shifted down further in the bed and did as he asked without comment. Working quickly, Killian disposed of his shirt - which was in desperate need of a wash - onto the chair he had expected to be spending the night in, then yanked off the already loosened boots, leaving them neatly tucked under the window. He glanced back at the bed, half expecting to see her watching him boldly, and fully disappointed to find her still obediently close-eyed. His finding a men's clothier today was a stroke of luck, and he shed his trousers, tossing them onto the chair back, in favour of a new pair of soft linen sleep pants, the likes of which he hadn't owned since his Royal Navy days. They were loose and light, probably impractical for the crisp early autumn evenings they had been experiencing and the winter season that was creeping ever closer, but nothing could stop him from being fervently ecstatic over the purchase.

He crossed the room, candle in the curve of his hook, bare feet padding softly on the worn boards. First double checking the latch on the door, he then stopped to toss another two logs onto the fire. _That should get them through the night_ , he thought. He quickly picked through his pockets - noting the pleasant sight of her cloak hanging carefully next to his - and drew out the length of green ribbon. Watching her face closely as he stepped towards the bed, her new clothes folded and sitting on the small bench by her side. He placed the candle down on the table beside him, sliding the rounded handle through the curve of his hook.

Her eyes were still closed as per his request as he climbed onto the bed, hook lifting the covers just enough to slide under them. The sheets were better quality than he had expected, and the chill of the fabric was welcome against his flushed skin. The braid was towards him and he ran a hand down the length of it, her breath hitching even as her eyes stayed dutifully shut, hand meeting hers at the bottom and tugging the length of ribbon around it, securing the mass of golden hair with a simple bowline knot. He gave her braid a gentle tug. "There, all set." She opened her eyes then and they were quiet for a moment as he settled down beside her, hook carefully kept away from her skin above the covers. She looked at it questioningly, before reaching out and twisting her fingers around the curve of it; turning, the way she had seen him do before, and the heaviness came away. She handed it over to him, eyes soft, so he could place it beside the candle.

"It's up to you, Killian. But I can't imagine that it would be very comfortable." Her voice was low and husky as her hand landed lightly on the brace, and she looked so worried about him. She watched him motionless for a moment before leaning over to kiss him chastely on the corner of his mouth. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

His fingers found the buckles on the brace, unfastening them slowly, breathing laboured. The room was silent, save for the fire and his own pounding heart, and as the brace pulled away from his flesh, he groaned in relief, the skin free finally.

"Good night, Swan," he whispered to her in the dark, voice low and husky and a little more timid than she had expected.

"Good night," she whispered back, sinking further into the bedding, tugging the thick down comforter around her ears, desperate to keep in as much heat as possible. The inn was quieting down; the earlier ruckus downstairs had ceased and now all that was left was the comforting creaking and groaning of the old house as it settled around them, the room dark and warm. The candle flickered, casting watery shadows on the ceiling.

_Killian, you can't leave that burning while we're asleep!_

_Why ever not, Swan?_

_You shouldn't leave candles unattended, everybody knows that!_

In the end they compromised and left it burning, but she made him move it to the relative safety of the stone window ledge. He had grumbled and huffed and flung the covers off dramatically, but as he slid back under them a moment later he was grinning and bright eyed once more.

Killian's breathing had evened out, heavy and slow beside her, and it was lulling her to sleep. Her feet were cold and as tempting as his radiate heat was, they had already crossed enough lines for one day. So she curled onto her side facing him and let the flickering fire light, casting off the walls like moonlight on the ocean, rock her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is loving this story! I'm super excited for it - this is going to be a great ride!  
> I love love love getting kudos and comments, they make my day!  
> I do plan on updating weekly, so please subscribe so you don't miss what's coming next (and trust me, you're not going to want to miss it!!).  
> xox  
> \- DarkDragonfly


	3. Strangers in a Strange Land

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

Turns out, neither one of them was any good at sticking to their side, and come morning they were a tangled mess of limbs and crumpled bed clothes. 

Killian awoke first, wrapped around a peacefully sleeping Emma Swan. Her hair was still held in a braid, the knot he had tied taut at the end, and it fell across her neck in a thick tangle of gold. He hugged her to his chest drowsily as she murmured nonsense into the pillow. Her feet were tucked against his legs seeking warmth and her backside was snug into his hips. 

_Oh._

He pulled his hips away marginally, not wishing to wake her, and was able to put a bit of distance between them. She sighed softly then, his name on her lips and he froze, anxious that he had disturbed her, but she wiggled further into the bedding; blonde head poking out from the thick pile of blankets. 

The world around them felt thick and dreamlike, a kin to sailing through dense fog on an open sea. Their room was quiet; rain hitting the window softly in lazy sheets while a chill hung in the air from the now cold fireplace. It had burned out some time ago despite the timber he had added before joining Emma for the night. 

He lay awake for a while longer, content to simply bask in the quiet comfort of her laying safely in his arms, when their peacefulness was shattered by the burst of sudden, insistent knocking; the door rattled on its hinges from the force of the blows. 

Emma made a pained sound, like an angry cat, and pulled the quilt over her head, backside sliding back to fit tightly into his hips once more as his arms wrapped solidly around her for a quick hug before unwinding himself from her and throwing the covers aside. He strode quickly to the door before the knocking had ceased, fastening his brace as he went.

“What?” he snarled, throwing the latch and wrenching the door open. A young man stood in the hallway, soot covered face worried and drawn, hand raised in a tight fist set to knock loudly again. 

“Just here for the fire, sir,” he explained, swallowing thickly. Killian nodded to the lad, standing aside with a mutter to be quick about it. 

Killian glanced back at the bed; it was warm, rumpled and so very inviting. Emma’s head wasn’t visible and she was unlikely to wake, but he walked to her side just in case, watching as the fire was swept and stoked again. The lad was efficient, and had he not knocked the stoker over in his haste, Emma would not have sprung up in alarm, eyes wide, covers falling to her lap. 

“What the-” she shrieked before clamping her mouth shut and wrenching the covers back over herself. Killian had moved to stand in front of her at the foot of the bed, though it was hardly necessary; the poor boy’s face betrayed his utter dismay and horror. 

“Beg your pardon sir, ma’am,” he whispered. 

“It’s fine,” Emma squeaked, covers still pulled up to her chin, face red with embarrassment. 

Killian locked the door after the lad had scurried out with a vague promise to be back tomorrow morning, and leaned against it, breathing deeply. 

“I’m sorry, Swan. I forgot he was due to come service the fire and I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Well, I’m awake now,” a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she slid down further into the bed, turning slightly onto her side to watch him, hand propped under her head. “Are you coming back to bed?” she asked, voice dropping a few notches, eyes emerald dark pools in her face. 

The room would warm quickly now and he started to unlatch his brace to free his arm, pushing away from the door. “Aye.” 

The cracking and popping from the re-started fire lended the room a cozy familiar feel, and the shiver that ran lightly across his bare back since he left the nest of covers was starting to fade. Killian tossed his brace back onto the small table beside the bed. It landed with a solid thud and she smiled at him as he slowly came back to her. 

“It’s raining,” she whispered, listening to the rain as it steadily beat against the windowpane. 

He nodded, fingers playing with the end of her braid, “has been all morning,” he murmured back. She hummed, eyes closing as he pushed his fingers to the back of her head, gently massaging her scalp. 

“What’s the plan for today?” she asked with a sigh, laying down fully under his hand, gazing up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. These were uncharted waters, and he was feeling the weight of it settle around his heart. 

“Are you hungry, love?” he asked, caressing a fallen lock of hair from her face with his wrist. It was strange, touching her like this. He had not ever allowed anyone - except a few members of his crew when they doctored him back to health after the incident - to see him like this. It was too personal, too intimate and he had never been comfortable with the vulnerability of it. But here, with Emma, it felt right. He had discovered the pull of it last night, when he allowed her to detach his hook; watched her face as she worried over his comfort. 

_How long had it been,_ he wondered suddenly, _since anyone had given his comfort any thought?_ _Not since Liam had died_ , he realized sadly. Yes, Milah had loved him in her way, but she was hurt and damaged and they didn’t have much time for softness - a pirate’s life wasn’t suited for that. He longed to be open and free with Emma- it was liberating and terrifying all at once. 

“I would murder for a coffee, but yes, I could eat.” She offered him a sleepy smile before her face turned more serious. She stayed silent, brow pinched other, worry starting to cloud across her eyes.

“What is it, Emma? Talk to me,” he murmured, searching her face, cataloguing the tiny flickers of unease that flitted across her features. 

She was silent for a while, laying beside him, curled onto her side. But he didn’t rush her, she would come to him when she was ready. 

“I just,” she started, hands now playing with the end of the ribbon he had tied in her hair. “I feel like this is all my fault, and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Killian stretched out to lay beside her, their breath mixing across the small space between them. 

“It’s not your fault, love.” The conviction in his voice made her look up, smoothing out the lines of stress on her lovey face. 

“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. You would still have the _Jolly_ if you hadn’t-” 

“No, Emma.” 

“But-” 

“I would give her up, a thousand times over for you,” he imparted, tone the closest thing to a vow that he had come to in centuries. “And this situation,” he tossed his head to the side and lifted a dark brow, “is not your fault.”

She tucked her lips together but she didn’t argue. He pressed on. 

“Gold wanted us off the board. He would have found a way to do that regardless of you or I trying to stop him.” 

“I broke the wand, though,” her voice was a dejected whisper, shame swimming in her eyes. 

“Snapped it on purpose, did you?” he asked, teasing lightly with a soft smile. She shook her head, looking at him like he was ridiculous. 

“No, of course not, but I was holding it when it broke,” she explained, voice trailing off. 

“Right,” he leaned in and kissed her temple, inhaling the smell of her hair, “so if I had been holding it, and it broke, would it be my fault?” he asked, lips still touching her skin. 

“No,” she breathed, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she shifted onto her back. He pulled away from her to allow her room to move, hovering over her as he watched the guilt and self-reproach fade from her features. 

“Then why is it yours, darling?” 

She stared at him for a long moment, before reaching up to wrap her fingers around the chain dangling around his neck, and pulled him down to her. He went willingly, covering her torso with his, allowing her to set the pace of this kiss, to find control and grounding in their embrace. 

She pulled back with a sigh, fingers tinkering with his charms. “Breakfast?” she asked, laughing as he groaned and collapsed onto her, face buried in her neck. 

* * *

They dressed quickly and made their way into the town, rain still misting around them. Their first errand was to collect the remaining pieces from Emma’s new wardrobe. She was whisked away into the cozy backroom once more where she shucked off the borrowed dress and sighed in relief as the new green garment wrapped around her comfortably. 

Emerging into the main room again, cloak under her arm, she caught Killian in the middle of a transaction, the shopkeeper grinning at her in delight as she wrapped something with a length of linen. 

“What are you up to?” She asked, coming to stand at his elbow and tried to reach for the package. 

“Nothing, Swan,” he had the audacity to wink at her as if she were an idiot who had only just met him and offered her his arm. The woman behind the small counter swooned slightly and wished them a good day as he pulled her from the shop. There was no use arguing with him here, and he simply tucked the parcel under his arm with a smirk. 

The rain was increasing as they made their way to the main road, and Killian ushered her through a doorway as a crack of thunder rumbled in the distance. Emma shook off her cloak, folding it over her arm and running a hand down her thick braid. 

She sat facing the fire this morning while Killian dressed behind her, _no peeking, Swan,_ combing out her mass of waves into some semblance of order. She had managed to pull the golden locks into a decent French braid and by the time she had gotten to the end, Killian was there with a new length of ribbon, soft cream coloured and velvety soft, and had secured it in an intricate sailors knot at the bottom. 

He had explained to her this morning as she was getting dressed that he thought their best chance to find a way of fixing the wand was to travel to the coast. Seaport towns had a better chance of receiving news, and of spreading it. If they could find someone who knew of the wand, they were a step towards actually fixing the damn thing. It was a solid idea, and she felt lighter knowing they at least had a small plan in place. Now though, they needed to procure travel to a seaport; neither of them wanted to walk the whole way, regardless of how far. 

Standing at the bar, Killian placed an order for lunch; he also inquired as to the frequency of supply wagons through the town, and their proximity to the nearest seaport. The barman’s young wife was quick to offer help, relaying that the town received orders of provisions and goods from Tyneside on a near monthly basis, and passage could be arranged on the return trip - for a small fee of course. 

It was just as Killian suspected. The seaside town of Tyneside was a solid day’s ride from where they were, and the tavern’s delivery was due the next day around mid afternoon. They thanked the young woman and sat down near a window. 

“Would you teach me to play?” She asked as she watched the table next to them engaged in a rowdy game of dice. 

“If you wish,” Kilian replied, watching the other table closely. “Though, not with them,” he nodded and raised his mug for another swallow of ale. 

“Why not?” her brow furrowed, mouth turned down into a small frown. 

“Because those dice,” he slid into her space, still watching their neighbours, “are loaded.” 

“Really?” She whispered back, enjoying the feel of him so close to her. He simply nodded. 

“I have a set, I’ll teach you tonight if you like,” his eyes were dark blue in this light, and it reminded her of the sea in Neverland. _How far they had come since then_ , she thought suddenly, watching him still from the corner of her eye. They had always understood each other, and she had trusted him from the moment they started to climb that beanstalk. He had come back for her, come back to help find Henry even though he had vowed to never set foot on the wretched island again. He had come for her in New York, brought her home to her family - her heart tightened in her chest. And he had followed her so she wouldn’t face the dangers of this unknown place alone. 

And he was with her still, a constant reassuring presence by her side. 

He promised he would rescue her, _but maybe he already had._

* * *

The rain had intensified and by the time they left the tavern, it was pelting down on them in sheets. Not wishing to trudge around town in the rain, they had come back up to their room, but not before stopping at the bar for Killian to order water for a bath sent up. The copper knee-high basin in the corner of the room had looked rather inviting and after only a couple pails of boiling water, it had succeeded in warming her up. 

The bathing screen that stood in the corner was comically small, and she giggled uncontrollably the whole time he had made use of it. She had sat on the bed, practicing the random assortment of sailing knots he taught her over their lunch, as he groused and complained from behind it. 

“You think this is funny, do you now, Swan? Just you wait until you- bloody hell!” the whole frame keened suddenly and the violently splashing that followed had her beset by another round of laughter. “Bloody thing,” he growled. 

“I told you, I can go wait outside,” she said when she finally caught her breath. 

“You most certainly will not,” he huffed. The splashing and angry commentary continued for a few minutes longer before he emerged, clad only in the linen pants he had worn to bed the night before, hair towel dry and tousled. He looked devastatingly handsome and something in her heart tightened and loosened all at once. 

He stalked towards her, crawling up on the bed with a growl and a curse that had her smirking at him again. He plucked the ribbons from her hand and tossed them aside, moving into her space and kissing her soundly. “Right, Swan. Your turn.” 

Water replaced and the screen reset - it really was a bastard now that she was on the naked side of it - she sank into the shallow water with a quiet moan. 

“You were telling me what you know about DunBroch,” she said, attempting to lather herself while kneeling in the narrow basin, this certainly wasn’t as relaxing as the large tub from two nights ago, but the water was piping hot and it eased her muscles all the same. 

“Aye, that I was,” he agreed over the distinct sound of a table being dragged forcibly across the floor. “It’s an island,” a soft thud followed by another came from the other side of her screen. It was surprisingly comfortable, sharing a space like this with him, and they had fallen into it fairly naturally. “A sizable one at that. There are two large shipping ports, one on the Ivory Sea and one farther south, closer to Misthaven.” 

“I wonder where we are then?” she pondered aloud; sponge squeezing hot water across her back. 

“If I were to guess, I’d say we're in the north. Not much in the way of shipping traffic and it seems rather… primitive, even for here.” 

She hummed again, lower this time as gooseflesh broke out across her skin, “I don’t know how the hell we’re going to fix that wand,” she admitted, it felt as though she was relaying a huge secret, revealing a weakness that she didn’t want exposed. But, there was no use hiding it. She had thought of it for the last two days, and still no options had presented themselves. 

“There’s magic here, Emma,” his voice was low and calming. “We’ll find a way. And a port is the best place to gather knowledge; we’ll take our leave, hopefully tomorrow or the day after.” 

“Yeah,” she didn’t know if she believed him, but she trusted him, and if he said there was magic here, then he would help her find it. 

She moved to get up out of the small basin, water sloshed as she rose and slowly got her feet under her in the slippery tub. The screen wobbled threateningly and she wrapped her robe around herself quickly in case the whole thing collapsed. 

She found him with a flask set in front of him, twisting a pair of dice in his hand. He had stared at her unspeaking for several heartbeats before rising to offer her his seat. He had indeed pulled the small table closer to the fire while she bathed, and had set two chairs as close as he dared to the roaring flames. The room was chilled from the rain and shivers broke out across her shoulders and down her back through the robe. She took a step towards him, before looking back towards her clothes. 

“Go on, love.” 

She looked back at him, a small furrow between her eyes. He was lowering himself into the chair that wasn’t directly in front of the fire, giving her the warmer of the two seats. _I’m always a gentleman._ His teasing words from what seemed like a lifetime ago echoed in her ears. _He was, that hadn’t been a lie either._

“You’ll be more comfortable, the evening won't be getting any warmer I’m afraid,” he turned his back to her, offering her what privacy he could in the confined space, but not before winking and quirking a brow. She shook her head and hurriedly pulled the chemise she had won all day over herself and tugged her new woolen socks onto her feet. Retying the robe again she joined him, hand floating gently across his shoulders as she passed. 

“I’ll have to do laundry tonight before bed,” she contemplated, bottom lip caught on her teeth. She only had the three slips, so she would likely need to do laundry each night to stay on top of it. “Is there still clean water left?”

“That reminds me,” he stood and fetched the wrapped parcel he had refused to share with her earlier. “Don’t fret, love, it’s not all for you,” he laughed as he watched her eyes narrow. She tugged the twine off and let the wrap unwind on the table in front of her. Killian stepped behind her and snagged a pair of black cotton shirts off the top. He tossed one onto the bed to put away later and pulled the other over his head. It was similar to the one he already owned, and she watched him over her shoulder until he nodded at the rest of the package. “Those are for you, Emma.” 

He was blushing slightly in a way that was not because of the fire and she looked back at the remaining clothing to find a pile of soft, silken fabrics embroidered with delicate, pale stitching. A shiver ran down her body that had nothing to do with the remaining chill in the room. 

“Killian…” she trailed off, lifting the first garment from the pile and fingering the pale pink silk ribbon threaded around the neck. “These are beautiful.” 

“You can't launder your clothes every night, Swan. You needed them.” He was trying to shrug this off, embarrassed and unsure. He had bought her three, each lovely and hand embroidered with delicate pastel stitched flowers. He sat down in front of her again, avoiding her eyes, hand scratching nervously behind his ear. 

She leaned forward, silken pile still between them and grasped his blunted left wrist, thumb gently stroking back and forth across the calloused skin. His reaction was confusing her; he hadn’t behaved this way yesterday when she had set out her purchases, and as she watched him slowly raise his eyes to her, she saw a shyness in them that gave her pause. 

“Thank you, Killian.” 

He nodded, smiling, and produced the set of dice he had shoved into his pocket moments earlier. “Now, I’ll teach you how to play,” he waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed, tension of the last few moments forgotten for now. “And then, I’ll teach you how to win.” 

The evening had passed quietly as he regaled her with tales of the sea; of mermaids, and monsters, and far away lands. She listened as he spun stories of valor, adventure, and treasure. The fire was tended and would last the remainder of the night - the poor young lad from this morning knocking quietly this time and mousing around them as quickly as he could . Killian had walked the boy out when he finished, murmuring to him at the door before passing him a coin. 

Her hair had dried and as he spoke, she wove small haphazard braids through it until it was a tangled mass of golden twists. She gathered it for him as he stepped behind her, ribbon at the ready, and felt his hand lace a intricate knot round the end, laying his hand on her shoulder, thumb kneading the slope of her neck. She turned her head, allowing him better access and sighed lightly. 

“I’m tired,” she whispered, eyes shimmering black in the flickering light of the fire before her. 

“Bed,” he said simply, and held out his hand to her. She took it, fingers warm against hers. 

“Wait,” she stopped, touching the chemise with the yellow ribbon; plucking it from the pile, “I would like to change.”

He smiled at her and turned, busying himself with the candles for the windowsill. Robe slipping off her shoulders, Emma watched the flex and pull of Killian’s body and he knelt to light the wicks. Her thick woolen socks came off next, and she tucked them together on her small bedside table. 

The candles were sitting against the inky blackness of the night, rain still falling quietly outside, his reflection glassy and distorted in the window. Killian felt more alive than he had ever before; his heart was hammering and he felt adrenalin rush like quicksilver through his veins. 

_Gods above, he loves her._ He exhaled a shaking breath as he allowed the feeling to wash over him and settle into his soul. _He always has and he always will._

She was attractive, that much was blatantly obvious, but she was so much more than that. He had sworn to her, in the jungle of Neverland that he would win her heart, what he hadn’t realized until this exact moment that his heart had been hers since they had met. She was powerful, tenacious and so entirely special that he felt his chest constrict nearly painfully. 

_And here they are._

Killian tugged his new clean shirt over his head and folded it over the back of the chair. He had toed off his boots hours ago when they came back up to their room, and as he unlaced his trousers, he heard her breath his name. 

Back stiffened and breathing laboured, shallow and even, he turned. 

She sat up in the bed, resting back into the bed of deep pillows. Quilts, thickly pooled around her, rested across her lap. Her nipples pebbled and pressed enticingly against the silken fabric of the slip, pale yellow ribbon was loosely tied. Her golden hair thick and braided. 

She looked for all the world like a siren; he would follow her anywhere. 

“Aye, love?” he swallowed, sweat prickling at the base of his neck. The fire was to his back, and the warmth of it fought with the tickle of anticipation which ran through him as Emma lifted her brow up slightly, questioning smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“Are you coming to bed?” Her tongue swiped out to wet her lower lip. He could barely breathe. As he neared her, she reached for him with a look on her face he hadn’t seen before. Boarding on beseeching, she looked nervous and excited all at once. 

He grasped her hand, turning it gently with the palm facing up and placing a soft lingering kiss on her pulse. Her skin was flushed and he melted onto the bed with her, feeling heady and dazed. Her hands found his shoulders, nails biting into the skin, and she guided him down with her. 

“I believe, Captain,” she purred into his chest as he landed beside her. “That you owe me a prize,” she bit down lightly on his chest over his heart, fingernails scratching down his back.

“Do I now?” he growled, hand tangled into the braid he had helped her tie. He shifted but held himself above her, weight resting on his forearm. It was surreal, being here like this with her. Their sudden plunge into domesticity was making his head spin, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they would have to talk about it. 

_Could they stay like this?_ Truly together? In Storybrooke, with the pressures of other people’s wishes and expectations burdening her, he hadn’t been sure. He had hoped, but doubt was a sneaky, slippery thing. Here, freed temporarily from the weighty responsibility of being the Savior, away from her parents and their nonsense, perhaps she could be free. _Perhaps, they both could._

She was humming again, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to concentrate. “I beat you,” she whispered into his neck as she pressed several light kisses against his pulse. 

“You cheated, darling,” he could feel the heat of her against his lower abdomen; her hips shifting against the press of his own. “Your dice were the loaded set,” he said as he nipped at her jaw.

“I guess you were right,” she mumbled, flipping them over to lay over him. She seemed to glow in the dark room, and he was acutely aware of how little she was wearing.

“I usually am, love.” She bit him again and he hissed through clenched teeth. “But what was I right about this time?” 

“I guess there is a little pirate in me after all,” she teased. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she cared to have a lot more pirate inside her, but he clawed back his usual retort and simply chuckled, conceding her win. 

“To the victor,” he quoted, and traced a hand down her face and throat, wrapping his fingers around her back of her neck and pulling her down to him. Her mouth was soft and hot, breath mingling with his. “And what does the lady claim as her prize?” 

Her eyes were large in her face as she placed her arms across his chest, gently pulling his blunted wrist to rest in her hand, watching him. His hand traveled up and down her back, careful to stop before he got to her waist, in case she did not want him to go any further. They lay in silence for a long while, the crack-hiss of the fire across the room the only noise. 

“Tell me a story,” she finally said, voice clear and calm. 

“And which story would you like, Swan?” he raised his eyebrow at her and smiled, “I do have over 200 years worth of them.” 

She watched his face again for another moment. “Tell me about Milah.” 

He swallowed. Of all the tales he had expected her to want to hear, the sad legacy of his love for another woman was certainly not it. 

“It’s not a happy tale, love,” he replied, his voice sounding far too loud in his own ears. 

She glanced down and kissed his wrist reverently, lingering over the hideously scarred flesh. 

“I know,” she whispered back, eyes soft and worried. She expected him to deny her. 

_But he didn’t._

* * *

Emma stood by the window in the soft hazy light of the still burning candles; freezing cold and stiff. 

It hadn’t been a happy tale. He spoke softly of a crowded tavern and a lonely woman who craved a life outside of the one she had. He left and he came back, and she was still there. They drank and he thought himself in love with her. She had a young boy with wide brown eyes. They had told a lie- easier for her. His cutlass to a man’s neck. A broken family. His cabin, full of drawings. The open sea. Another tavern in another town. An alleyway at night. A magic bean, and finally, a Crocodile. 

He had been feverish and hung on the precipice of death for weeks; wound on his wrist festering, heart broken. His crew held him as he screamed, the heated flat of a blade. The smell of seared flesh; his flesh. _Cauterized_ . The brace had sat heavy on his arm. The hook, part of his beloved _Jolly_ , a symbol of what he had lost. She had said she loved him, laying there on the deck. And perhaps she had, in her own way. A portal in the sea. Neverland. The Lost Boys. A demon child and a deal made. 

She had lain on his chest through the tale, fingers stroking blunted wrist she still held, lips pressing tender kisses against its scars, as if she could somehow erase the pain he had suffered. 

They were silent for a long while, his eyes closed. He shifted under her, lifting up to plant a kiss on her forehead. She was drowsy from the late hour and his painful story and he rolled them over easily, hovering over her. 

“I’ll be right back, love.” he kissed her again, mouth slanting over hers before standing to shed his trousers in favour of the linen pants he had worn to bed the night before. He slid under the covers with her and gathered her to him. 

“Sleep, Swan,” he whispered in her ear. 

But she couldn’t. She laid awake, listening to his breathing even out. She fought against the anger that welled inside of her. Anger at a woman she would never meet. Anger at that cowardly man who had sent them both here. _Anger for his pain._

She had wiggled from his embrace to stand here. 

A rustle of sheets, and a sleepy voice called her name. She turned back from her thoughts to watch him come to her, bare chested and covered in scars; a map of a hard-lived life.

“I missed you,” he whispered when he reached her, arms wrapping around her, warmth pressing into her. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, voice low to match his. His eyes searched her face, smiling slightly and pulled her back to the warm safety of their bed. 

“Why not, love?” he asked, tucking her to him, her face on his shoulder. 

“I’ve been thinking of all the ways we could skin a crocodile,” her voice was low and husky but her eyes were alive with anger and he smiled. _Tough lass._

“Ah, a marvelous plan, let’s discuss it in the morning, aye?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> Good riddance, 2020 - dont let the door smack you on the @ss on the way out! 
> 
> And THANK YOU for following this story along with me, I love it prob more than I should. 
> 
> Drop me a comment and make my day ❤


	4. Tyneside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Happy Friday! 
> 
> Just as a reminder - this tale is rated for a reason ;) 
> 
> xox

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

It was the screaming that woke her. Plunging her into abrupt wakefulness inside the safety of their dark, fire-warmed room. 

Killian’s face was above her, inches from hers; worried eyes pools of black against the moonlight surrounding them. “Wake up, darling you have to wake up,” his emploring voice floated down to her as if through a dense fog. 

Emma’s heart raced as she gulped lungfuls of air trying to quiet the still all-too-real press of the dream which still lingered around her. Her lungs burned and she was gripped by the opposing needs of both to run, to leave the remnants of the dream behind her, and to curl up into the safe haven she had found in his arms. 

She mewled and tried to move but was stopped by a firm weight which had settled firmly across her hips and her arms were pinned immobile beside her. “Killian?” Her voice was a harsh whisper into the small space between them - _as if she were the one who had been screaming_. 

He seemed to come back to himself as well, shifting his hand and blunted wrist away from her pinned hands, trailing his fingers lightly up her arm in a soothing slide which left a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. He was still leaning across her hips, chest pressing tightly against her own. His hand made its way up over her shoulder, righting the sleeve of the slip which had slid down her arm. Across her throat, his hand continued it’s journey until it rested reverently against her face, wet from tears. 

He smoothed his thumb across cheek. “I’m here, Emma. You’re safe. I have you, love.” 

His voice was soft and warm and everything she needed to settle her still racing heart. _Heart_! 

She launched herself at him abruptly, forcing him to sit up, and threw her arms around him, body wracked with renewed silent sobs. 

“Your heart,” her voice was muffled against his neck and his arms tightened around her pulling her to him in a desperate bid to chase her demons away. But the demons weren’t just hers and they haunted them both even here. “He took your heart.” 

The frayed edges of her dream were knitting themselves back together as she curled tighter into him. 

_It had been humid, hot and insufferable; the air had clung to her skin. Her brain was slow and languid. Time didn’t exist here and yet she felt the press of it on her heart._

_She cut through another swath of jungle, Neal’s sword clumsy in her hands. She’d known she was going in circles, but there’s no one there to show her the way. A lost girl. Always alone._

_She hadn’t wanted to be there. She didn’t want to wander that jungle alone, searching for a family who has forgotten her._

_Alone._

“Neverland,” she whispered as she pulled back to look at him. 

The fire was still burning low in the hearth against the wall and the candles that she insistently would not allow him to remove from their place at the windowsill still cast watering pools across the ceiling and over the walls. It was hazy and soft and she inhaled the smell of his skin. He smelled of the soap which also lingered on her skin from the bath earlier that evening. The hint of rum and leather which seemed to permeate his being were there under the surface and it soothed away the choking loneliness she had suffered in that dreamscape. 

_She had been searching for something and she couldn’t find it in that God forsaken place._

_Her skin was on fire and she cried out; a wordless outburst of longing. A desperate plea for a place she’s never known. Home._

_And suddenly, he was there. A darkly-dressed sentry against the lush green of this demonic place. She’s safe now that he’s here with her - body relaxing and sparking alive all at once._

_She whispered his name, hands reaching for him desperately. She relished in the slide of sun-warmed leather against her palms, his breath in her ear; a quiet murmur as he nipped her ear lobe. His words were lost to her, the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood in her veins too loud, and all could think was that she’d found what she had always been searching for. And she’d never let him go._

_He smelled of the sea; like sunwarmed wood, leather and home._

_It's heady, and too much, and it will never be enough._

_“Please,” she had whispered, voice husky and desperate. Her hands shook and she felt as if she might die. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. She wanted him; and the feeling was crushing the air from her lungs._

_She slid her hands under the thick lapels of his coat, and all she could think of was how much she wanted to be wrapped inside of it where nothing could ever hurt her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and he kissed her then, mouth open and demanding; his hand in her sweat soaked hair as he pulled her closer._

_The glint of his metal hook caught her eye and it was hot and sensual. The threat of danger hung still around them in this nightmare of a place, but they were together and he would destroy anything that came for her. His eyes were dark and oh so alive against the foliage that surrounded them, and he whispered her name like a prayer._

Her fingers relaxed against him for a moment, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck before trailing down and across his shoulders to trace the ribbon-thin lines which crisscross his back. She hated it, this map of pain others had carved into his body. So she flattened her palms against them in reverence and tucked her face into his neck. 

He smoothed a path up and down her spine, murmuring into her ear but the words were lost as the final part of her dream invaded her senses, chasing away the chill that continued to shiver on her skin. 

_An eerie peel of familiar laughter rang out from behind them; Killian spun away from her, sword and hook at the ready. But he wasn’t fast enough and the golden-skinned monster had taken his heart. He cried out in agony; never once faltering in his guarded position between her and the demon who had haunted him for centuries._

_The clawed hand tightened and he fell._

_Just like Milah._

_Just like Graham._

“Your heart,” she repeated, voice pained. “He took your heart.” She moved both hands to frame his face; one hand traced the line of his jaw, the stubble rough and thick under her nails, and she thought fleetingly that he would need to shave soon. 

“He crushed it. I couldn’t stop him,” the last is uttered in half apology and half desperate fear. “I’m sorry.” 

He shushed her and ducked his head to the side to kiss her gently, resting his cheek against her forehead. He was murmuring all manner of soothing endearments and his breath was warm on her face. The nightmare had felt so real and the smell of him here lingered against the taste of him in her dream, her mind unsure in it’s still-fragile state where one stopped and the other began. 

They stayed wrapped around each other a while longer before he sat back a hairsbreadth further from her, capturing her face with his hand, eyes searching for any traces of the darkness that had haunted her. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she whispered, serious and scared all at once. He shared a part of himself with her yesterday; something he very likely had never told another living soul. It made her brave, here in the dark with him. Brave enough to crack open her walls just a tiny bit and show him her soul. 

“You’re not alone, Emma,” he breathed, kissing her face softly. “I’m here.” 

Her hands itched to hold him and her heart felt like it may explode if she didn’t immediately feel the steady beating of life within him. She needed to know that he was whole, and safe, and _here._

In the hazy dark of their room, her emotions had started to fray at the edges and she was beyond terrified that something would happen to him, that he may be forced from her side. 

“Your heart, Killian,” she whispered, voice imploring. “He-” she broke off her sentence and shook her head trying desperately to dispel the vision of Killian on the ground, heart crushed to ash in that golden-skinned grip. 

“My heart is safe, Emma. Here,” he pulled her hand gently, lowering their bodies down into the soft nest of sheets so that she hovered above him, firmly bringing her hand to press against his chest. He watched her, eyes soft and kind, as his warm palm covered hers against his skin. “Can you feel it, love?” he asked, determined to chase the Crocodile out of her dreams. 

She nodded and he lifted his hand to card it through her tangle of hair, which had long since come apart from her braid. He dug his fingers through the mass of tresses to massage the base of her scalp, gently working through the stress of the last hour. Her hand had curled itself against his chest, nails lightly scoring his skin, the scratching of hair there course and tantalizing on the tips of her fingers. 

“It’s safe, darling. It’s yours, and it’s safe.” 

She graced him then with a small tentative smile and leaned down to kiss him again. Her tongue ran against the seam of his lips and he opened to her instantly. She was warm and solid against him and he tightened his grip against the back of her head, holding her to him as his mouth teased against the edge of her jaw, running his tongue against the pulse point in her throat. 

She moaned and tilted her head, allowing him better access to her, but it wasn’t enough and he rolled them both so he was on top of her once more. Her hair is a wild golden halo on the pillow below him and he’d never seen any sight more beautiful. Her hands gripped his back, holding him to her; scars like lightning strikes under her hands. 

“Killian,” she sighed as he sucked a sensitive spot under her ear, it would surely be marked by the morning and she felt a small thrill rush run through her at the prospect. “I want you,” it came out as part demand, part plea and she’d never been so sure of anything in her life. 

He pulled back, eyes black in the dark. He was glorious this way, bare chested and alive; hovering over her like a guardian. 

“Emma,” his voice had an edge of warning to it, and she knew what he was going to say. He won’t risk losing her. And she was mad at herself for making him feel this way. For worrying that she might not feel the same. For thinking that she’ll run from him, after everything they have been through. 

“I want you,” she repeated, pulling back to look at him and giving them both a moment. Another line waiting to be crossed. “I want us,” her voice comes out as a hushed whisper; sure and steady against the wild beating of her heart. 

She could feel him, hot and hard against her stomach. She let out a low whimper in spite of herself and pushed her hips up in both an invitation and a question. 

Killian growled low and slanted his mouth against her for another searing kiss as he ground himself against her in answer. “Aye, love.” His voice was a deep rumble in her ear, teeth grazing the side of her throat. She felt alive and whole and _home._

“Tell me what you want, Swan. Tell me, and I swear to you, you shall have it.” 

Tears pricked her eyes. _When was the last time anyone, let alone a man, asked her what she wanted?_

He pulled back then, attuned as ever to her mood, eyes soft and open. And when he asked again, quieter this time as he dragged his nose down her own, her heart swelled and she couldn't remember a time when she was this happy. 

“Tell me,” he breathed, kissing her face softly. He peppered her face with featherlight kisses, across her cheeks, her eyelids and the corners of her mouth. “I’m here.” 

His hand moved down her body, lightly grazing the fabric of her shift and making her writhe and squirm against him. He was straining at the seam of the sleep pants and he pulled his hips up to relieve some of the pressure. 

“I just want you,” she replied on an exhale and he moved his mouth over hers again as her hand started to roam his back, pressing him down to her. Her breath hitched and the sigh of his name on her lips had him shifting to press hot, open mouth kisses down her throat. 

His fingers moved up to gently tug the pale yellow ribbon which was hanging half tied at the neck of her chemise. His eyes held hers as the bow fell away; her hands curling around his shoulders as his hand went to work gently brushing the fabric away from her chest, thumb grazing the hard peak of her nipple as he pressed his mouth against her breast, sucking her nipple between his teeth. She let out a gasp at the sudden feeling and tangled her fingers into his hair, the strands silken and smooth against her skin. 

The chemise he bought her had fluttered up against the tops of her legs, the fabric shifting like waves against a ship as she moved against him. He turned his palm to wrap under her thigh. 

His eyes flicked up to hers, watching for any hint of hesitation; she lifted her hips in a silent plea. Ducking his head, he nipped at her hip bone, scratching his face lightly across the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. 

“Please, don’t tease me, Killian,” she whimpered, head lolling to the side. She was glistening, wet and needy; it took all of his strength not to dive forward and lick and kiss her until she didn't know her own name anymore. 

“Never,” he breathed as he lifted her leg to hitch it over his shoulder. Her breath caught. She hadn’t permitted anyone to do this to her in a very long time. It was too personal, too intimate and it made her feel far too exposed. But his face between her legs was sinful and his eyes glowed sapphire in the faint light of dawn creeping in the window, _and he was looking at her like he knew her very soul._

“Fuck,” she groaned at the first light pass of his knuckles against her soaking centre, and she dug her fingers through his hair. He hasn’t removed his rings and they were thick and cool against her heat.

His nose grazed against her core and her hips rolled like the ocean he had spent his lifetime learning. She smelled of sunshine and freedom and the salty tang of the sea. 

Circling her clit with his thumb, he blew lightly onto the tiny bud. Emma’s body bowed sharply off the bed, mouth open in a silent moan and he pressed her down again, holding her in place with his blunted arm. Her other leg rose on its own accord, slow and heavy, to rest against his other shoulder as he coaxed a sound from her that was half plea and half desperate cry. 

She was hot and wet and so incredibly tight as he slid a finger into her, circling and twirling as he slowly fucked her. And she chanted _please_ over and over again. 

“Darling, hush. You don’t need to beg. I’ll take care of you.” 

Her chemise laid bunched up over her hips and she looked like a perfect, sinful vision, hair spread out and wanton.

She cried out again as he pressed the tip of his thumb against her now swollen clit, watching her face as he added another finger into her wet heat. 

Emma was going out of her mind, her desire a swirling, chaotic thing. His mouth was demanding and hot and he kept up a strained commentary of low growled flattery that was going to aid in making her come. His tongue swirled over the bundle of nerves he’d been tending to and she ignited around him. 

His fingers soothed against her once more, coaxing her down from her peak, and he wished for the bare of her skin laid out before him instead of the chemise. Her eyes were closed, face turned away from him. He watched her breathing even out slowly as she came back to herself. He crawled over her then, settling solidly between her thighs, the heat of her warming him further. 

Lifting herself as much as she was able, Emma tugged the garment up her body and Killian grasped the hem, bringing it finally over her head and casting it aside to look upon her. 

She was flushed and blushing, a lazy, sated smile gracing her lips. She reached out for him, hands slow-moving and grasping at his arms, shoulders and back. 

“Killian,” she whispered, small hands gentle and firm on his back once more before they quested lower, pushing the waistband of his pants down his hips. She was smirking fully at him, a cheeky glint in her eye relaxing something within him that he hadn’t known was clenched so tightly. 

“Yes?” he murmured back, voice husky as he let her fingers tickle lightly against the skin on his backside. She was determined, and he enjoyed watching her as she relieved him of his clothing. Her tongue poked enticingly at the side of her mouth and he swooped down to nip playfully at her lip , pushing the pants down the rest of the way as she captured his lips with hers once more. 

His length was heavy and hot against her, and the grind of him against her was driving her out of her mind. She broke the kiss and grabbed his hips, biting down on the tender spot where his neck and shoulder met. His hiss was harsh and ever more arousing as she urged him forward with her hands. 

“Emma.” He groaned her name reverently while sinking into her slowly, the tone of his voice utterly wrecked. He was hovering above her, weight settled on his elbows to keep from collapsing against her, as she gasped and nipped and kissed his throat. 

“Oh, my God,” she said, her voice cracking as she caught her breath. 

The stretch of him was almost too much and she had to bite down again on his neck to stop the babbling that was building inside her. She desperately wanted to tell him that she didn’t feel alone anymore. That she wanted him to stay with her, always. That she understood him now, but she wanted to know him better, _needed_ to know him better. She wanted him to know that she was scared they may never get home, that she may never see her family again, but that as long as she had him, she would be fine.

She couldn’t tell him, not yet. His name is accompanied by a deep moan and a string of colourful cures instead. But as he settled firmly inside of her body, she felt his heart racing against her chest- _maybe he already knows all of those things._

“You are my home,” he growled, kissing her hard once he was buried inside her to the hilt. Her body stretched deliciously around him and she rocked her hips up in a silent plea for him to move. “Emma,” his voice was rough, breathing ragged as his pace increased. “Look at me,” he commanded, snapping his hips hard, making her gasp and dig her nails deeper into his back. She did then, the blue of his eyes almost black against the dark of the room. “No one will take me from you, Emma. I swear it.” 

* * *

She fell asleep with her nose buried in his neck and awoke hours later the same way; legs tangled together, hand across his chest, muscles deliciously sore. She felt his eyes watching her before she even opened her and when she stretched languishly against him, placing a small kiss on his chest above his heart, she felt the tension melt from him as if he was expecting her to reject him, or retreat somehow from what they had done hours earlier. 

“Good morning,” she whispered, eyes meeting his in the light of the sun. They were bright and brilliant blue and she felt like maybe she could finally breathe for the first time in her life. 

“Good morning, love. Again,” he smirked and hugged her to him. “Hungry?”

“Aye,” she teased with a terrible impression of his accent and he scoffed at her lightly before rolling her on top of him. 

“Alright, then, Swan.” He spread his arms to the side dramatically and narrowed his eyes in challenge at her, perched on top of him, hair a curtain of gold around her shoulders. She cocked an eyebrow in question, circling her pelvis once, twice against him, the friction delicious and welcome. “Feast.” It wasn’t quite a command as he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face as she sank down on him, laughing. 

* * *

The water was scalding, and she was doing her best to pinch the sopping wet fabric by the edge to keep as much of the water away from her as possible as she plunged it quickly into the soapy basin once more. Emma hissed and hopped a bit on the balls of her feet trying to dispel some of the feeling from her hands. 

She was certainly adding laundry to the growing list of things she would never complain about again once she was home. 

She glanced sideways at the small pile of still-dry clothes that needed to be washed before their wagon departed early the next morning. Killian had come back directly from the tavern earlier that afternoon, a smile of his lips and a mischievous glint in his eye. She had opted to stay behind- _I’m perfectly capable of staying in the room by myself, you know_ \- while he went to inquire about passage to the coast. _I know you are, Swan, I just like you with me_. His shy declaration had almost been enough to change her mind, but the laundry tub had already been requested and she really couldn’t afford to not clean her stockings another day, so she pushed him out the door with a kiss and a grin and set to work. 

It hadn’t taken him long- he was back before she had finished her chore- but he needed to settle their additional night with the owner downstairs, so she allowed her mind to wander in the quiet of the room around her. 

She had a mild panic this morning after he had gone, but she counted backwards from ten and determined that the birth control shot she had gotten while still in New York was still effective, though she would have to worry about that eventually. Killian had, of course, noticed her mood and had asked, worriedly as fear clouded his eyes, what the problem was and how he could help. She had tried to brush him off, but his face was so open and vulnerable, laying beside her in the sheets tangled from their night together, that she mumbled and stared at her fingers and looked anywhere but at him while she explained. 

He had exhaled and apologized; it had been reckless and he was sorry. The only way to shut him up had been to crawl back over him and sink down onto his length and grind against him until he forgot everything except her name. 

He had explained, afterwards, face flushed and gulping down air while she traced random patterns through the hair on his chest, that tonics and such could easily be procured from an apothecary, and that he would find something for her as soon as they reached Tyneside. She had told him she was more than capable of doing that herself, and he scoffed at the idea of his lady having to procure such a thing. Emma had rolled her eyes and blushed slightly. It was sweet and she was only a little embarrassed by how much she liked being taken care of. 

The heavy door creaked as he pushed through it into their room to find her still working before the window, hair pulled back in a loose tie, humming to herself as she plucked one of his shirts from the dwindling pile beside her to soaked it in the basin of still-piping hot water. His heart clenched at the sight, and he had a moment to admire her before she started hopping again, hissing as the hot water further scalded her hands. 

“Swan,” he sighed and came around to her, resting his chin in her shoulder and watching her from this position and feeling bubbles of happiness rise within his stomach. “Add. Cold. Water.” he punctuated the soft request with a kiss on her cheek between each word, which made her smile in spite of her obvious discomfort. 

“It’s fine,” she hissed, poking at the black fabric again to push it further under the frothy water. 

“Or allow me to do it,” he stood up and reached into the water with his hook, jostling the laundered item into the suds. 

“It’s fine, I used to do this all the time.” Her spine stiffened slightly, as if she hadn’t meant to say anything, and he neatly sidestepped her worry.

“Aye, maybe so, Swan,” he fished the shirt out of the tub, letting the water drip off both his hook and the sodden shirt for several heartbeats before dropping in on the table to be wrung out. “But you don’t need to anymore; don’t hurt yourself, love.” 

Emma had been silent for a while after quietly conceding to his pouring cold water into the basin, and was busy scrunching the last pair of her stockings into the water, which had settled to thankfully more reasonable temperature. 

“I used to have to wash my clothes in sinks,” she said in a hushed whisper. She hadn’t turned around and her hands were still in the wrist-deep water, stoically watching herself complete the task in front of her. “After I was on my own, I mean,” she finished even more quietly. 

He said nothing at first, watching as she squared her shoulders for a moment before relaxing again. 

“But,” she plucked the pair of stockings from the water and rang them out gently, careful not to twist the delicate fabric. “I didn’t usually get to use hot water, since I had to be quick in convenience store bathrooms.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but she felt him move behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, because of course he knew it was a big deal, and she was trying to tell him she was happy this was different. 

“And what about you, Captain?” She asked, voice husking towards the end over his title. “How do pirates wash their clothes?” She was teasing him again, of that he was certain. The shadow of her past had left her eyes and she was smiling _his smile_ at him over her shoulder. 

“We kidnap princesses to do the work for us, love,” he growled against her skin before he bit down on her neck. She squealed and turned in his arms; the rest of the washing could wait, she decided, as he hauled her off to the still rumpled bed. 

* * *

They reluctantly pulled themselves away from the lazy comfort of their nest a while later as the sky was starting to darken. Emma had finished tying the remainder of their clothes that wouldn’t fit in the small satchel when Killian’s hand appeared from under her arm in front of her, the heat of him against her back distracting and solid. On his palm rested a set of dice and she plucked them from his fingers with a small smirk. 

“Care to try your luck, Swan?”

She hummed, “always. Are we heading down for dinner? I’m starving,” she asked, tinkering the dice around in her palm; they weren’t the weighted ones. 

“Of course, whenever you like, love” he replied, placing a kiss on the back of her head before stepping away to button up the vest he had pulled across his shoulders. She turned and watched him for a moment, distracted by the pull of the fabric across his back, before turning her attention to her own state of near undress. 

Emma pulled the chemise, she had set aside to wear the next day, over her head, knotting the soft blue ribbon in a loose bow before slipping into the corset. The laces hung loose down her back from where she had replaced them earlier that morning while she was sitting between Killian’s legs as he lounged back in the mountain of blankets and pillows, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. 

Her skirts were next, and once she had tied the knots the way Killian had shown her, she felt a warm hand settle on her waist before a gentle tug caused her to relax back into him while he helped her. 

Once settled, they made their way downstairs into the small dining area, signaling to the young woman behind the bar. Killian sat across the table from her, facing the door while he and Emma played dice as they watched the room around them come alive for the evening. A busty young woman had flounced her way towards them to bring a bottle of rum and hurried back off to the kitchen. 

“Another one to add to your ever-growing collection of admirers,” Emma quipped as she tossed the dice again onto the table. She was beating him and he had already closed a hand over hers several games ago, prying the small squares from her grip to ensure they were not the weighted set. They weren’t, and he still couldn’t decide if he was irritated or proud. 

“Jealous, Swan?” 

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’ a bit too hard, however, and they both laughed quietly. 

* * *

The city of Tyneside was a busting hive of activity, more so than either of their last destinations. 

When they finally arrived in the small, portside city in the mid afternoon sun of the next day, Emma was surprised to find her eyes hadn't actually managed to rattled clear out of her skull. The back of the wagon was exceptionally uncomfortable no matter how she sat on the narrow wooden bench and far, far more crowded than either she or Killian had expected. 

They had stopped a handful of time to water the horses and each time she stepped out onto the road, a new part of her body hurt. _It’s better than walking, I suppose, but not by much_ , Killian had groused low in her ear as they had stood together, his arm slung around her waist in a possessive, territorial fashion.

He had been that way since the early morning when they arrived at the small stables to set off on their journey to the sea. They had companions in the wagon, whom he clearly didn’t trust, and he hadn’t left her side since they had encountered the three men in the stableyard. 

They were older in appearance, grim and haggard. The leader had struck up a conversation with the driver for the first while. They were on their way to the larger port south of here, hoping to find work on a passing merchant ship. The three of them had tried to regale Killian with tales of their adventures on various seafaring vessels. Boastful and loud, he had listened with clear disinterest as the spouted story after story, each one more unbelieveale than the last. 

Emma had been grateful for their first stop, a small farm post a few hours out of town, desperate to get away from the men for even a few moments. Killian had taken one of the small knives from the roll he had given her and stood behind her, facing a tree. He held the blade, the grip pointing straight forward, and flicked his wrist quickly, letting the weapon slide easily through his fingers, spin end over end, and bury itself into the white bark. 

She had nodded and marched over to retrieve the blade, feeling the weight of it in her hand. She reached him again, spinning to face the same unlucky tree. He settled his hook on her waist and adjusted her hand to a better angle. 

“Alright, love. Give that a try.” The knife sailed through the air and pinged off the bark, landing off to the side in a tall patch of grass. Emma growled and started towards the small blade but Killian’s hook was at her elbow and he strode off to pick it up for her. 

A whistle pierced the air and Emma watched in amusement as his jaw twitched at the noise. He shrugged the bag back across his chest and tucked the small knife away again before coming back to stand in front of her. She grumbled about spending more time with their obnoxious companions and he nodded in agreement. 

“Aye. But men like that reveal much when allowed to hear the sound of their own voice,” he whispered in her ear, nipping lightly at her lobe and causing her to grin stupidly at him before he led her back to the wagon. 

And so she listened the way Killian was listening as he sat beside her, hand on her knee, satchel filled to bursting slung across his shoulder. He laid his hook on his thigh and she could see them watching with interest from beneath the cover of her hood. They had asked him what happened in the way that strangers do when they feel they know you. 

People on airplanes were the same, Emma had always found. They believed in a kinship of confined space and shared destination. Asking all sorts of personal, prying questions as you sat together thousands of feet in the air. 

Humans, as a general rule hadn’t changed much, she thought, as she felt Killian tense minutely. 

“A duel,” he said simply, leveling them with a narrowed gaze. 

“Over her?” the skinnier of the three men asked, eyes roving blatantly over her. 

“Aye,” Killian lied, voice low and menacing, shifting so that his coat fell behind his cutlass. 

They were quiet then, lost amongst themselves, but neither Emma nor Killian missed the small glances they threw their way for the rest of the silent, bone-rattling ride. 

The smell of the sea had grown stronger the further into town they had traveled, the wagon rattling down a small sidestreet behind a row of warehouses before finally pulling to a stop. 

Emma and Killian had gathered their belongings quickly and strode off, away from the docks, to find lodging. 

The tavern owner last night had given them directions to a landlady who rented small rooms by the week, though Emma doubted they would ever actually find the place with all the small alleyways and side streets. Far from the docks- _safer that way, love-_ the apartments were all located in quieter residential parts of the small city which appealed to both of them. 

After several streets of dodging horses and carts, the traffic had started to dwindle and Killian had indeed led them right to the place they had been looking for. Emma shook her head and smirked at him as he gave her a patented eyebrow raise and knocked briskly. 

* * *

The back of her neck prickled with unease as she quickened her pace towards the entrance of their rowhouse. 

It was full dark now and she should have been back a while ago. Killian was going to be going out of his mind with worry. He had been uneasy as it was having her out alone, and she had promised not to be long. They had argued as she tied on her boots, him facing her with his back to the window, face shadowed and worried. 

He had wanted to come with her- _I won’t bother you, Swan_ , he had pleaded- he would have given her what space she needed. It wasn’t safe for her by herself. They hadn’t been in the small city long enough yet. But Emma had been feeling itchy and confined since they arrived a week ago; their casual inquiries about the fairy wand - or even about magic in general - had been met with blank stares. 

It was beginning to feel hopeless and she had only wanted to wander a bit by herself and clear her head. Besides, she reminded him when she leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his tight jaw, stubble scratching her lips, she had lived on the streets for a time as a girl; she could take care of herself. And so she had left with a vague idea of when she would return. Killian had run his hand through his hair and told her to be careful. Eyes full of worry.

The row of shops she had gone to was several side streets down on the main road that she and Killian had discovered a few days before, wandering the city _to get our bearings, Swan_. The streets were narrow, and crowded, the warm sea air stirring on her face gently. She had looped her hand through his arm and been able to forget for a while that they were doomed. 

And in the bright easy light of day she hadn’t thought anything of it. It had been safe, her head on his shoulder as they wandered unhurried through the streets. 

But here, alone and dark with the walls of the buildings closing in on her from both sides, it was different. Her footsteps were quick and light as she hurried around the last corner. 

A sound echoed softly down the narrow alley behind her and the distance between herself and the doorway stretched greatly. 

Someone was following her.


	5. Muscle Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning : hey folks, this is a little heavier of a chapter as it deals with a few unfortune events at the beginning. Assault / violence. Fair warning, to avoid entirely, skip about halfway down ❤

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

The small pool beside his left boot rippled darkly in the faint glow of the gas lamps as another drop of blood fell from his hook. 

His life spent in the shadows had been a constant dance of destruction and pain, both his own and that which he brought savagely down on those who had wronged him. 

And for a span of several heartbeats, he was a savage man again. 

* * *

Emma grunted as something hard and heavy slammed her into the stone wall, knocking the air from her lungs. A hand wrapped in a heavy fabric was forced against her nose and mouth. Her mind raced, she wouldn’t be able to bite him. _He had done this before._

“There now,” a quiet tone hissed in her ear. Her front was pressed up against a rough stone wall and the body behind her breathed into her ear, and something wet trailed slowly up her neck. He had licked her. Her skin crawled and a shudder wracked across her frame. 

The man reeked of filth and she gagged from behind the hand still held bruisingly hard against her face. 

She fought against him, instincts that at first were stuttered with fear and surprise were now thrown into high gear. But he was large and strong and _he was going to hurt her._

The wall at her front was her only option and she kicked up with both feet, landing them against the wall and pushing off. She caught him by surprise and he let her go to stumble backwards and catch his footing. Unfortunately, the move worked better in jeans, and her feet got tangled in the mess of skirts. Stumbling, she fell hard onto the ground. 

She called out then, a sharp cry that was swallowed up by the toe of a boot connecting solidly to her stomach. 

Pain rolled through her as she tried to claw herself away from him, his dirty hair falling into his eyes as he reached for her, seizing her tightly and yanking her up. His hand once again covering her mouth and nose. Stars swam in front of her eyes and his voice was in her ear again. 

“Now listen ‘er, kitt’n,” he sneered, breath hazing over her face. “Ye’r goin’ to be a good gal, ‘n keep quiet, else I’ll gut ye ‘n leave ye alone.” 

* * *

The evening sun had finally set, casting the small lodging in the watery light of the lanterns hung by chains on the ceiling over his head. 

Emma had gone out hours before with her chin raised and eyes narrowed in stubborn determination. He knew what she was feeling. It ate at him as well, the small weight of the broken wand he carried at the bottom of the satchel an ever present reminder that their only chance to get home was slowly slipping away from them. They had been in Tyneside a little over a week, and while it was pleasant enough, the longer they stayed here the stronger Emma’s quiet anxiety grew. He knew her. He could read the small worries which tensed her body. The bone deep fear of being forgotten, replaced and unwanted. 

It tore at him, so he couldn’t really fault her for needing a small respite from their situation. The bitter disappointment of the last several days hung around them both much like an ill vapor regardless of how they tried to shrug off the weight of it. 

She had broken his heart the night before, quietly curled up against his chest, her fingers tracing small nonsensical patterns across his skin. The light sheen of sweat which had prickled across his throat had begun to dry leaving him pleasantly cool as his heart slowed from it’s thundering pace in his chest from moments before. Emma hated being chilled so as he tucked the sheet closely around her shoulders, she smiled softly up at him, a hesitation in her eyes. He smoothed his hand down her back, fingers playing with the soft ends of her hair - a habit he had picked up quickly and it seemed to sooth her as much as it did him. 

“What is it, love?” he asked, voice no more than a hushed sigh. 

“Do you think they can see us here?” 

He knew what she meant, but the lines of worry had deepened between her eyes and he smirked at her lightly, “Right now? I certainly hope not, Swan. I don’t think your father would appreciate that.” She laughed softly and her eyes lost the sheen of worry which had been his goal. “Aye Swan, I believe they can,” he flattened his hand across her back, pressing her to him. 

“I hope so. I want them to know we’re okay.” 

They had drifted off sometime later, Emma turning herself to press against him, cold feet tucked securely between his calves. 

“Killian?” she had whispered to him through the dark as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her solidly to his chest. He grunted, on the verge of sleep before her calm voice continued, soothing another small roughened part of his soul. “I don’t think he would appreciate it, but I think he would approve.” 

Before she left, Emma made their bed haphazardly, although here it didn’t bother him like it would certainly have a lifetime ago. He had watched her, leaning against the door frame, smiling at her as she flung pillows and blankets with little care onto the mattress. Her hair was loose and she hummed a tune he had no hope of recognizing. Once her task was completed, _it’s a cozy nest, Captain; it’s supposed to be messy_ , she has plunked herself down, started tugging stockings up her legs and asked him what he wanted from the bakery they had found the morning before. It was distracting, watching her like this. So at ease with the relationship they had found together here. And through it all, he had stood at the stooped doorway at war with himself. 

She needed her space, feeling hopeless and hemmed in as she was. He had swallowed against the loud voice inside his heart that screamed at him. It wasn’t safe for her to be out alone at night. She needed him with her, she needed to be protected. He pushed that fear down, smoldering it in his heart where it sat thick and coiled. She had been right of course, she was capable. Emma Swan was perhaps the most capable person he had ever met. But it wasn’t her actions that terrified him. 

* * *

Something was eating at the back of his mind, and he hadn’t survived this long by ignoring that voice. Striding quickly to the door he attached his hook into the brace and made his way through the winding narrow hallway; the stairs were steep and they creaked and he rushed down them. The closer he got to the street, the more his gut snapped and snarled at him. 

_Something was wrong._

He held his breath, the air still around him, listening. _There_. A scuffle and a sharp cry invaded his senses and he took off quickly towards the source of the noise. His boots were soft against the cobbles as he sidestepped around the slight corner and as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light; he could make out the shape of a figure at the end of the laneway. _No_ , cold swept over him. Two figures were huddled against the side of the building, as the form of the larger moved slightly shifting to the side the oil lamp at the corner caught the glow of pale skin and a golden mane of hair. 

He was already running, blood singing through his veins. The last thing he heard was the sickening sound of the man's hand against her face. 

_Then everything went numb._

* * *

Her left eye throbbed as if it had exploded, watering and sealing shut from the force of the blow. 

_Holy fuck._

Her ears rang. The blow he dealt her had plunged her world into a dream-like haze. It was dark and the rough stone at her back was ripping small cuts into her skin. She groaned and tried to push him away. A hand came up to her throat, squeezing roughly while his other shoved a wadded up cloth into her mouth before tugging impatiently at her skirts. 

Her hands were slow moving, as if waterlogged. She felt like she was drowning, just as in the Neverland sea. But her dad wasn’t here to save her and Killian was upstairs half a block away, likely worried, and pacing, and angry at himself for her stubbornness. 

Her throat was burning and she tried to push herself away but he was against her now and her body was slow, everything blurred and fuzzy at the edges. 

Tears burned her eyes. 

_Killian_.

She slumped further onto the wall. 

_Killian_.

* * *

The sensation of metal breeching flesh was not one that he would have ever forgotten were he to live for another several centuries. 

Striking fast, he ripped the offender away from her with such force the man had no time to react. 

Killian’s mind was a swirling haze of muted sensations. The noise from the man’s screaming channeling something dark through his veins. Clouding his mind so that all he could see was a vision of Emma’s beautiful blonde hair caked in blood and mud. Hair he had washed for her last night while she lounged happily in the steaming water of the deep tub. The tub in their room was only large enough for one person so he had pulled over a small stool to sit behind her, his fingers gently detangling the golden wet strands. She had sighed, sinking further down into the heat while her head fell back in relaxation. One hand lay on the end of the tub holding his scarred wrist, the other dragging the small cloth down her throat and across her breasts resting enticingly just below the water. 

He was snarling as he stood over the unmoving form of the man, chest heaving with furious effort and adrenaline. 

He remembered the first man he had killed with his hook. It had felt personal, far more so that he had expected. He had killed others before with his cutlass. But this, to gut a man open with his own body, was powerful and heady and echoed of a depravity he had long ago embraced. 

Confident that he had a moment before the man tried to retreat; Killian turned his attention to Emma, heart clenching hard and fast in his chest at the sight of her. She had slid down the rough stone wall into the dirt, hands shaking, and even through the darkness shrouding the street, the bloom of a bruise on her cheekbone and the track of blood from her lip were harsh against the pale of her skin. 

Slowly, he knelt down in front of her, hand outstretched, knuckles bruised and bleeding. 

“Swan.” 

* * *

As suddenly as he violated her, the foul smelling monster was gone. Bereft of her attacker’s pressing weight, she crumpled to the ground with her hands moving out in front of her to ward off another assault. 

But it never came.

A swirl of black in front of her, the gleam of metal. He was here. _Killian_. Her hands were shaking so violently that she couldn’t reach up to remove the cloth wadded up in her mouth. She watched with a calm detachment, _she was going into shock_ , while willing her hands to steady enough for her to breath properly again. 

“Swan.” 

“Killian,” she hiccupped after he pulled the oily rag from between her lips. She gagged as he dropped it to the ground beside her. She coughed, and sobbed, and reached for him; he barely had a moment to prepare as she threw herself into his arms. 

There was a shout from down the alley. It sounded far away and the underwater feeling was starting to close in on her again. She heard the distinct sound of heavy boots against cobblestone and her fingers gripped Killian’s vest tightly, turning white with effort. 

He stood, bringing her swiftly with him to her unsteady feet as he turned to place himself in front of her. He had no cutlass, but the dark shadow of blood on his hook proved he didn’t need one. She felt herself relax slightly as the footsteps stopped a few yards from them, and a steady deep voice with a heavy accent asked if they were alright. 

The conversation seemed to float around her; senses dulled now in exhausted adrenaline and the solid safety of Killian standing before her. 

She caught fragments of what they were saying, their voices melding together in the hushed tones. _Several nights now… Poor girl… No one saw… Magistrate… Wife… Enough of this… Safe… Six…_

Killian had turned then, reaching for her hand. When she stumbled to catch it with her own, her palms were cold and clammy as he scooped her up to hold her tight against him. 

“Get her upstairs, lad, I’ll handle this one.” The man whose face she couldn’t see in the shadows of the street nodded to them and kicked the boot of the body which lay at his feet. 

She longed to be the one to kick him, this man who had hurt her, to thrash and rage against how small he had made her feel. Vulnerable and victimized. She hated it. And as Killian climbed the steep staircase, she felt her own rage start to replace some of the residual fear. _How dare he do this to her._ How dare he hurt her and make her feel less. She hadn’t felt the sting of exposure in years, not since before Neal and it brought a great deal to the surface that she wasn’t prepared to face. 

Killian’s jaw was tight and the small muscle by his ear twitched angrily as he carried her the final steps into their apartment, setting her gently on the chair at the fire. 

He was covered in sweat, his hook dark with drying blood. He hadn’t looked at her until he twisted it off, the light clink of the metal as it dropped onto the stone window ledge adding a finality to the evening's events, before he busied himself at the stove, heating water from the cistern in the corner. He set to work and filled the kettle and the large pot over the fire and she cocked her head at him. 

“What are you doing?” He stopped mid step to the fire, bucket in hand. It was the first time he had really looked at her since he had crouched down to search her eyes on the street after he had pulled the man from her. Worry and something else, something darker, flitted across his features and she felt the weight of her actions settle on her shoulders. 

“A bath,” he said simply. “I thought you might wish for one, love.” 

Emma nodded and gave him a small smile. He returned the smile, though the action didn’t quite make it to his eyes. A soft knock startled the quiet between them then and she stiffened slightly as Killian dumped the water into the pail over the fire before answering it. 

She should be able to go to a bakery without a chaperone. She _should_ be able to do that. And she could, back home. There might be a villain or two on the way, possibly a curse to deal with, but no one would assault her like that man had. And it was becoming glaringly obvious she wasn’t at home any longer. 

_She didn’t belong here._

* * *

He shut the door and leaned against it after their guest had left; closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the grain of the wooden door against his fingers, jaw tense. 

Alec, the man whom they had met in the street, had heard Emma scream from two streets over and had rushed to find her. There had been a few attacks over the last week and the magistrate’s officers had been actively looking for the culprit. Alec had managed to alert the authorities to the attack and the bastard who assaulted her was now languishing behind bars. 

They spoke quietly for a short time, and with a promise to come by tomorrow and a worried glance at Emma, he took his leave. 

Emma had been quiet after he had carried her through the doorway and was sitting huddled near the fire, blankets tucked around her. A kettle was whistling on the stove and the large pot over the hearth was starting steam. Grateful for something to do, he took the kettle off the burner and slowly poured the water into the large tub, heat curling into the room between them. 

The skin beneath her left eye was stained purple with a deep bruise. It set his teeth on edge to look at it and when Emma had flinched as he moved too quickly beside her he felt as though he would die. 

_He had failed her._

She had trusted him in this land of strangers to keep her safe; he couldn’t even do that. His fist balled and he stood, striding several paces away from her to lean out out the window into the night. The cool wind off the ocean filled his lungs as he took a selfish moment to remember the sea. The feel of the waves as they rolled beneath him. 

Emma reminded him of the sea. Her eyes the colour of a lagoon in the morning as the sun rose, her hips riding up to meet his, the salty fresh taste of her on his tongue. 

A muffled hiccup from behind him pulled him back to the room and he was by her side in a moment, dropping to his knees, finding her hands beneath the layers of blankets. 

Fear was slowly giving way of rage again; her lip, still seeping blood that he couldn’t seem to stow, quivered and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He pulled a clean strip of cloth that the older man, Alec, had procured from a family down the hall along with a small pot of salve. Taking his time to coat the smooth cotton in the balm and holding it to her, a breath away from her face. Her breath hitched again as she pressed her lip tentatively to it, hissing through clenched teeth before relaxing into his hold. 

They were quiet for a long while, her with tears tracking down her face and him kneeling at her feet, holding the cloth gently against her. 

“Are you angry with me?” 

He balked. She had been so quiet he thought she may have fallen asleep. But she was looking at him now, small and scared; and he _must_ have misheard her. 

“Emma…” he trailed off, swallowing past the hard edge of acrimony in his throat. “No, how could I ever be mad at you?” 

She sniffed and it broke his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn't have gone out by myself.” 

“This isn’t your fault, love. Please-” 

She shook her head, eyes more alert now that she was arguing with him. 

“I should have come to meet you. I knew I should have. I-,” he continued but she cut him off with an impatient gesture, her hands moving quickly under the layers of quilts he had pulled from her nest on their bed. 

“I didn’t want you to and we both know that.” They lapsed into silence, the day’s events sitting thick around both of them; as bad as it was, it could have been much worse - and they both knew it. 

The shrill whistle of the kettle boiling again broke the heavy silence, and as he dumped the large pot from the fire into the basin, he felt his throat tighten up against the swell of emotion from the last couple of hours as it started to overwhelm him. 

She had stood, swaying slightly, and moved towards him dropping the blankets onto the chair in the small dining space. She offered him a small unsure smile and turned her back for him, laces neat and even from his assistance that morning, waiting for him to help her. 

Carefully, he undid them. Watching as she relaxed slowly with his gentle touch. The set of her shoulders dropped and she curled into herself as the stays were loosened, her upper back and shoulders marred with small cuts and scratched from the stone on the wall. 

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, feeling the tension radiating off of him. His fear for her. His anger at himself. He had taken the hook off immediately after he had sat her on the chair by the still roaring fire, setting it aside out of her view by the window. He would deal with cleaning it later; He didn’t want to upset her with the blood and violence of his actions on the street. 

“You sure, love?” 

She merely nodded and pulled the soft undergarment from herself. Bruises had bloomed across her pale skin, the clear imprints of that animal’s hand against her upper arm were the darkest and he traced a finger lightly down them, as if to erase the shadows from her skin. 

* * *

She hissed as she lowered herself into the water, knees tucking up so she could wrap her arms around herself. Killian sat behind her, as he had the evening before, and worked the dirt and tangles out of her hair. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, relaxing finally into the heat. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Emma.” His voice was tight and she turned to look at him. 

“What is it?” she whispered, taking his hand in hers, thumb running carefully over the bruises across his knuckles. 

“I don’t-” he stopped, looking more than slightly uncomfortable before swallowing and pressing on. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper, Emma, I wouldn’t want you to think…” he trailed off. 

_Oh._

“I’m glad you were there to lose your temper,” she tried to lighten the mood, but he glanced down away from her, watching her hand holding his. “Hey, look at me” she demanded gently. “It’s okay. I’m okay. He’s not okay - which is what really matters. We’re okay.” 

“I wanted to kill him.” The admission was low, a whisper of shame and apprehension slithered through his voice. He shook his head, as if attempting to rid himself of the thought.

“It’s okay,” she reached for his face, caressing the small curved scar there. She hadn’t realized he had been so concerned about her reaction to his actions. She was just grateful he had been there, that she had him, that they were both safe. 

“I could have,” his voice was low and serious. “I have before, Emma. I-” He took a deep breath and met her gaze again, eyes open and honest. “All I want is to be a better man for you, Emma. A man you deserve.” 

_Enough of this_ , Emma thought furiously. Here he was, tearing himself apart because he had put himself in front of her, defended her. No one had ever really done that for her before and she knew he would do it again, without thought, in a heartbeat. 

“Killian,” she turned completely around and felt only slightly strange having this serious conversation wet and naked while he sat before her. “All my life, people were always letting me down-” 

“I don’t intend to let you down, Emma.” It was a promise and she knew the truth of it. 

“I know,” she smiled softly, “I’m going to choose to see the best in you.” 

The air was heavily charged for a moment, the heaviness of the moment settling around them, until he raised his hand and brought it to cup her cheek, careful to avoid the darkened bruise. She knelt up to kiss him, gently, before he pulled back enough to reply softly, his breath washing over her face in a soft caress. 

“And I with you.” 

* * *

It took just over a week, but the discolouration of the bruise on her cheek had started to fade, and much of Killian’s dower mood went with it. 

He had been sharp eyed and wary. Half expecting, it seemed, to find the offender among the small market crowds and down every side alley. 

For the most part, Emma let him be. Allowed him to fuss over her until finally, one day she had had enough. 

“Alec is coming for dinner tonight, we’re meeting him and his wife,” she announced as she flitted around their apartment, folding fresh dried laundry and generally busying herself to keep from going out of her mind. They had continued their quiet quest with the wand and still nothing had come of their inquiries. The air had grown colder and as much as Emma was afraid to admit it even to herself, the closer they got to winter the more likely it had started to feel that they would never be able to return home. 

“We are, are we?” he popped a small hard candy into his mouth and eyed her with a teasing layer of suspicion. The candies had been procured at a small shop off from the main marketplace a few days ago as Killian has walked the small city with Alec, who had fast become a friend and ally in this world of strangers. 

Alec was the manager of a row of warehouses near the docks, managing the books and day to day business of the space. Killian had caught Alec’s interest almost immediately as the discussed business and he had been quick to offer him a position - however temporary it might be - in the clerking office. He had brought legers back to their apartment, pouring over them by candlelight as Emma read local flat sheets of news and events. There were small mentions here and there of other lands and she hoped to hear something of her parents, however fleeting that hope seemed to be. 

“Yes, his wife, Fiona - I think he said her name is, wants to meet us.” 

“Aye, Fee. Alec has mentioned her,” he scratched behind his ear and she eyed him narrowly. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’re a terrible liar,” she grinned sideways at him, enjoying the pink blush on his cheeks and his refusal to meet her eyes. “What?” 

“Alec has told Fiona about us, but he thinks that we’re…” he trailed off. 

“What does he think?” She had met the older gentleman a few times, quickly in passing. But he had kept his business to Killian and that suited her just fine. 

“It’s not that you should feel,” he started and stopped again, making a small notation on the side of the revenue column he had been working on for the last hour. “It’s that, it’s different here, love. And I didn’t tell him, of course. But he assumed and I didn’t correct him, because I didn’t think it would really have any bearing.” 

“Oh my God, Killian! What?” She almost shouted, exasperated and eager to know what was making him so nervous. 

“He thinks we’re married.” It came out as more of a blurted statement and Emma stood for a moment staring at him. 

_Of course he would, it was so different here._

“When we went to the magistrate,” he swallowed, meeting her eyes and putting his marker down to give her his full attention now. Blood rushed through her ears, the echo of that night over a week ago making her hands sweaty and shake slightly despite her adamant assertion that she was fine. She nodded at him after a moment, noticing that his jaw was tight and he was wishing he hadn’t brought it up again. “Alec relayed much of the tale, as he saw what had transpired with myself and the man. He called you my wife and I didn’t correct him, because it hadn’t mattered in the bearing of the story and…” he trailed off, obviously still embarrassed. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, crossing the room to take his hand in hers. 

* * *

In the end, Fiona was lovely and had reminded Emma so immediately of the mother she had always wanted that she felt a sudden tightening in her chest and a longing to hold on and never let go. 

They had met for a meal at a small tavern that knew Alec well. Killian rested his hand solidly on her knee as their discussions of business dealings turned to tentative questions on history and families. They had rehearsed a simple backstory and were both pleasantly surprised when, after Emma stated tightly that their family was gone, the subject swiftly changed and no more was said on the matter. 

“Where will you go?” Fiona asked, sipping on a steaming cup of mulled wine, eyeing her and Killian openly with not a small amount of worry. “Winters are hard here, you see,” she continued, Alec nodding in agreement at her side, gaze focused on Killian. “You’ll be wanting a place more permanent before the first snow.” 

Emma’s lungs contracted painfully. 

The threat of winter was hurling quickly towards them day by day. The night air was chilled now, the breeze off the sea taking on a harsh quality that Killian had noted one evening as the air moved through their small bedroom. The snow would come, and soon. 

“We’ve a place,” Alec said between bites of his loaf. “If ye’ like. Not forever, mind,” he added winking at Emma trying to lighten the hopelessness he saw in her eyes. “But it’ll do for now. Until ye’ move on from here and find your home.” 

_Home._

They may never find their way back to it. 

Killian’s hand squeezed her knee in quiet comfort. 

He knew it as well. They were doomed here. Doomed to a land that wasn’t theirs, a land without friends and family. A land where nothing was familiar. 

They couldn’t even travel back to the Enchanted Forest. The fear of discovery by the Dark One or inadvertently being swept up in the curse Regina would still be casting in a year or two. 

There was nowhere else for them really. And they both knew it. 

Killian was silent, he wouldn’t make this decision. He wouldn’t take that hope away from her. 

But perhaps, she mused as she swallowed her own wine, having a permanent place to live for a while would allow them to focus less on their current situation and more on getting out of it. 

“A place?” she asked, voice quiet. Killian’s head was cocked towards her, surprised, perhaps, by this shift. She couldn’t keep them in limbo any longer. They needed to start making a plan.

“Our daughter has moved, gone south to start a family. She stayed with us for a time before they left, and now we have a set of rooms that are empty,” Fiona explained, the mood at the table lifting slightly. “You are welcome to it.”

* * *

Bright morning sun broke through the gap in the curtains, landing across the bed and glaring across Emma’s face. 

Groaning at the abrupt intrusion on her sleep, she turned her face towards Killian who was still miraculously asleep. He rose so early, she didn’t think she would ever get used to it, no matter how much time they had together. The fleeting thought made her stomach turn, the smallest idea of losing this thing between them causing her distress. 

She sighed, taking a moment to calm her mind before sliding carefully from the covers and padding over to the window. It was brighter than it was the morning before and as she wrapped her robe around her shoulders, listening peacefully to the small soft sounds of the house waking around them. She could hear Alec in the kitchen below them, yelling at the cat for being on the counter as he had each and every morning since they had moved in six days ago. She brushed the lace trim of the thick curtain aside to find the world outside bright and white and pristine.

The world outside was blanketed in a thin, sparkling layer of white. 

_Winter had found them._


	6. The First Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! xox

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

For centuries, Killian’s life had been defined by the wind. 

_Where it could bring him. What it could bring him._

He had been able to sense the change in it; standing at the helm, calloused palm tight on the smooth wood of the _Jolly’s_ wheel. The barest hint of change against his face. The slight ruffling of his hair. The tug on the sails. The way the bell tolled as the waves became more frantic. The pull of his coat across his shoulders as he held the ship steady through the swells. 

He had lived several lifetimes in service to the wind. 

So when the nip of winter had tugged on his coat one morning as he walked to the warehouse to meet Alec, Emma bundled up by his side, her hands resting on his sleeve, he knew they had a matter of days, two weeks at most, before the fury of winter beset them. 

They had needed a source of income; even with the many gold and silver coins he still had remaining on his person, time seemed to be less and less on their side. The simple set of rooms they rented was not a long term solution, and the small dark alleyways surrounding them now set his teeth on edge more than they had before. They couldn’t stay here, but he was hesitant to suggest another arrangement, loath to propose they find somewhere to stay for the winter, even as the finality of the season crept up on them. 

He could feel the change in the bracing bite in the air and see the telltale signs of early frost on the panes of glass in the morning. 

He had spent so long avoiding the winter. His _Jolly_ had hated the cold. Her rigging weighted down with ice, decks slicked with chill and snow. They had sailed once through a blizzard in Arendelle, a time he would never forget. He had stood at the helm, body thrown into the angry swells that rolled and pitched the _Jolly_ like a toy on a roughened millpond. He had shouted orders to his crew, voice half lost in the commotion of snapping sails and howling winds; the crew was shivering and frantic with hammers in hand as they knocked the ice loose from their ship. 

They had made it through the icy tempest and he had sworn to never go back into a place of cold and snow. To never feel again like that young boy, huddled against the wall of a bunk, scared and cold and oh so alone. Winter reminded him of his father. Of being powerless, scared and hungry as Liam did his best to be brave for them both. 

But winter was coming and the wand was still in pieces. Emma had taken it from his satchel one evening, brow furrowed in concentration as she attempted to will the broken halves back together, but it hadn’t worked. It was his turn, for a time, stuck here in this far away land, to be brave for the both of them. To smile, and sooth, and pretend for a moment that they were going to be alright. He knew she felt the weight of responsibility, of lost magic and the guilt of failure. 

The guilt of having been the one holding the wand when it broke was eating slowly away at her, and it seemed no matter how much he tried to calm her, the pain of that perceived failure overpowered all else. She had thrown it angrily onto the bed, the last evening they had spent in the Tyneside rented lodging, with her mouth set in a firm line, tension radiated from her small frame. 

“I can’t feel it,” she exclaimed, looking to him for answers he didn’t have. Killian was silent as he pulled her firmly against his side, hand lightly running up and down her arm chasing the gooseflesh away. “Magic is a feeling,” she continued after a moment, eyes softening in exhaustion. “But…” she trailed off, head on his shoulder.

“But what, love?” he whispered into her hair when she did not continue. She smelled like honey and the lightness of it was soothing. 

“But... I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.” 

* * *

The air smelled of yeast and butter, floating from the kitchen through the small crack in the door, pricking at his heart. A forgotten memory. A woman with his eyes. A smile like Liam’s. The ghosting image of his small hands rolling across dough as delicate fingers lay gently overtop; guiding and teaching. 

_His mother._

He seldom thought of her, painful and broken as the memories always were. But here, alone in a small study that wasn’t his, pouring over account books that belonged to another man, with the scent of fresh bread in the air, his mother was with him again. 

Emma had popped her head in the door before the smell of baking had lifted in the air, informing him that she was going to learn how to milk cows with Fiona. She had asked him with a cheeky smile on her face if he wanted to join them. He had laughed at her and shook his head, _next time, love._ She had given him a small smile, eyes still red rimmed from earlier, and slid back through the doorway, the solid click of the latch as it closed and her unhurried footsteps away from the door echoing through his heart.

Emma’s sorrow was a living, coiled, angry thing. Unlike his own personal brand of destruction, hers was directed inwards and it was entirely worrying. She had been near comatose with grief in the early hours of the morning, crying listlessly, missing Henry so much she might die. She cried for her parents, and the new baby that would surely take her place. Killian has soothed and done his best to ease her fears, but the relief he was able to offer her was temporary and, as much as he wished to banish it, he knew as well as she that it would reveal itself again. 

They had sat that way for a while, curled around the comfortable silence and intimate familiarity they had found in each other, until a crash from below had startled them enough to laugh quietly and sigh at each other in resignation of having to leave their nest. Emma had shrugged on one of his shirts to pad softly through to their small living space and crack open the door before closing it softly again. A black streak romped through the door of the bedroom ahead of her and sprang up to settle on the covers as she sat back down. 

“Harbouring a fugitive, are we, Swan?” he had teased and he scratched the feline behind its ears. 

“Alec is so grumpy, she’s fine.” Killian only hummed; Alec was a great deal more than grumpy about the cat being inside, and likely wouldn’t be pleased to find it upstairs. But the smile on Emma’s face and the way her eyes lit up as she dragged one of her hair ribbons across their bed for the small creature was worth the consternation of the old man. So he tucked his reply away and scratched the cat once more before standing. 

He sat with the account books for hours in the bright sunlight of the front study. Alec left early each morning for the warehouses and had lent him the use of his own small use-worn desk. The ledgers were neat and well tended, and Killian found his mind wandering, taking in the well loved home around him. He had never been in a place like this, neither of them had. A real home filled with memories, love and routine. 

Emma had wound her fingers through his hair their first evening at the farm. In the quiet of their rooms after dinner had finished and the dishes cleared away. They had retired upstairs to their quarters, lounging in the small drawing room with a large fire warming the space, when she whispered against his throat, _I like it here, Killian._ It had been a soft confession; half reverent, half shy. 

He had swept her hair gently away from her face and watched her for a moment as their breath mingled and warmed the air between them. The glint of the fire caught the metal of his hook as he brushed her hair and the reflection washed like gold across her face. 

He told her he felt the same. Confessed he had never felt so instantly at home in a strange place before. The house seemed to almost settle around them, and it reminded him of the Jolly, of the feeling he got deep in his bones when he set food on her, that she was as happy and content to welcome him back as he was to be there. The feeling was shocking in it’s familiarity and it rattled him for a moment as Fiona laughed at a comment Emma had made and passed him a small basket of fresh baked dinner rolls with a disarming smile. 

Emma had nodded slowly as he told her of the feeling he experienced, eyes lidded and tired, sinking further into him as they watched the fire until the embers smoldered. She yawned against his chest, her legs across his, dangling over the arm of the chair. He had stood and carried her through to the bedroom. They were both bone tired, wrung out from the turmoil they had yet to entirely leave behind them, and he set her down gently, chemise falling down her shoulder as she buried into the covers. She was asleep by the time he joined her. She snored softly, hand outstretched onto his side of the bed, searching for him in sleep. 

He watched her for a time, battling his own slumber as he took comfort in the solid fact that she was here, she was safe and they had this. _They had not lost everything._ He selfishly longed to wake her, to tuck her safely beneath him, to feel her hot and tight as she came apart with him. But she desperately needed sleep, so instead he lightly took her hand in his, fingers entwined, and let sleep take him. 

He had roused her as the sun streamed in the half closed curtains the next morning, his head buried between her legs. She had sighed and breathed his name, hands reaching down and holding him to her. He had nipped the crease of her thigh, memorizing the way her breath hitched and stuttered as his teeth grazed her core. 

He had left her sated, asleep again, as he closed the door to their small living space and hurried down the stairs to make the trek into the city with Alec for the day. Arriving back in the evening, he had found Emma and Fiona together in the kitchen. The sight had settled something deep in his chest, which had rattled painfully for the last several days. Their combined laughter warmed his heart and Alec gave him a sideways smile before opening the door to join them. 

This house was alive around them and he leaned back away from the ledgers, slide rule held loosely in his hand, to take a moment to trace with his finger the roughly carved letters that marred the surface of the desk on the right hand corner . He allowed his mind to wander, imagining a young child marking the wood with a small knife, proud of the accomplishment of having learned the crooked font and beyond eager to share their knowledge with the world. 

He had never had the opportunity to be proud of what he learned as a child. And the sudden ache of it pierced low in his heart, stabbing sharply between his ribs, a lonely memory of two children left behind. 

Liam taught him as best he could as they huddled together, small and freezing in the dark alcove on Silver’s ship. His brother had carved numbers into the underside of the bunk above them, _less chance of being caught this way,_ and tested him endlessly on math. Reading was next, as they toiled together in the bowels of that horrid place; Liam would have him practicing with any text they came across. Grain bags, ale barrels, supply lists, it didn’t matter. 

If it was important, Liam had taught him. 

“Bonnie did that,” Fiona’s voice startled him, and he dropped the rule he was using. She smiled softly at him in apology before coming further into the small, cozy space. “She was so proud of herself,” she continued, lost in memory. “Alec was too, mind. Not all young girls are taught, but we knew it was important. And, it served her well,” Fiona’s eyes refocused on him after a moment and she smiled kindly. “Tea?” 

* * *

“Your _wife,_ ” the title came out stilted, as if she knew it was wrong but said it anyway, “Emma. She’s…” Fiona trailed off, hands never pausing in their motions, kneading the dough out on the large kitchen table. He had pushed away from the table, intent on clearing the rest of the dishes away, smiling widely as Alec wrapped Emma in a tale of boyhood mischief, recounting the stealing of a prize goat from a neighbouring farm as Emma sputtered into her hands. He had shouldered his way through the door into the small comfortable kitchen, Fiona nodding at him as he set to work washing the remnants of dinner away. 

“She's not from this place, is she?” her voice low, muffled by the crackling fire and the sound of Alec’s booming laughter from the small drawing room, Fiona’s question startled him and caused a thin cord of fear to uncoil from his chest. He set the last dish aside to try and turned slowly away from the basin. 

They had been careful, he knew they had. Emma especially, still unsure and reeling from her abrupt plunge into this unknown land. They hadn’t openly spoken of their pasts, nor of their recent time spent in the Enchanted Forest. No mention had been made of his old lives, nor had she uttered a single word about her family apart from that first conversation in the tavern. 

They must have sensed a recent loss, Alec and Fiona. But they had never asked, never pried. They had simply welcomed them into their home; two souls in need of a safe harbour to heal for a time. 

His eyes snapped to hers, narrowing and searching for any hint of threat. There was none; Fiona’s gaze was steady and curious. 

“Why would you say that?” Killian asked quietly, heart thudding. While their tale was true, that they had lost their home, the circumstances were more than he had expected residents of these parts to understand. Magic lived here to be sure, in this land of witches and fairies, but portals to other realms and falling through time- that magic was something else entirely. 

“I am not threatening her, Killian,” Fiona’s voice was still soft, her hands still working the soft dough. “But I recognize the look she carries in her eyes when she is quiet by herself. It is the look of someone who has lost a great deal,” she nodded to him then, “except, perhaps, hope.” 

He said nothing, watching the woman in front of him carefully as he moved to the table. 

“I knew a boy,” her voice dropped even lower and Killian had to lean in to hear her over the crackle of the hearth. “He had come from away,” her eyes took on a far off look, the look of someone who had lost something very, very dear. “He was alone, you see. And he lived here for a time,” she pursed her lips then, gaze snapping back to her work. 

Killian sank into the chair behind him. Mesmerized slightly by the wistful tone her voice had taken, uneasiness churned in his stomach. _Another lost boy._

“He said he had lost his family, but I knew he meant something different. They were lost to him, but they were not gone,” Fiona looked at him, piercing and knowing but soft all at once. “Emma has the same look in her eyes,” she continued softly, as if sharing a deeply personal secret. “But only when you are not with her.” 

They sat in silence for a long while. Fee pottered around the kitchen as Killian watched the flames dance and lick in the hearth. 

“The boy,” he finally asked, breaking the silence, voice cracking. “What happened to him?” 

“He moved on,” she whispered as she placed the bread in the oven, wiping her hands on her apron, and went out into the night. 

* * *

Laundry, of all the ridiculous things, had caused it, that night when he had finished helping Alec in the barn. 

The horses were finally tended and he trudged across the darkened yard towards the softly illuminated kitchen, a lantern burning in the window. Killian let himself reminisce on his conversation with Fee after dinner as he brushed out the brown gelding he had ridden into town that day. With every sweep of the hard bristle comb down the beast’s flank, the uneasiness had faded little by little until he was at peace once more. 

He had expected Fiona, but the sight that greeted him was both arousing and irritating. Emma stood alone in the candlelit, bare feet curling against the cool stone floor, hands submerged up to her elbows in piping hot water, her hair tied away from her neck. From the doorway, he could see the glistening of sweat on her skin and he had a mad desire to taste her throat and take her right there against the counter of a kitchen that wasn’t theirs. 

He pressed the door closed with a solid clunk and she glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening slightly. 

“I thought,” he started, giving her his best Captain’s voice as he hung his woolen coat on a hook by the entry, “we had agreed that I was going to do that this time.” 

She shrugged, “it’s fine, I got it.” 

“Emma-” 

“Killian.” 

“Let me help you, please.” 

“You work all day long!” she hissed, spinning around to face him, a pair of his socks in her hands, “the least I can do is help you wash your clothes while I sit here all day doing _nothing_.” 

He should have known better, he thought later as they had stood, panting and sweat covered, leaning heavily against the counter. His mouth was hot on her neck, her hair pushed aside to make room for his teeth. She was feeling tense and restless. He should have taken her into town with him, he shouldn’t have left her alone so much. But stubborn pride reared its head and they had fought about who should do what until she pulled him against herself, kissing him and pulling at the laces of his trousers. He had taken her quickly, spun her around to press her forward against the counter. Her hands scrambled at her skirts- _we have to be quiet, love-_ before thrusting into her fully. 

They had been quick and mercifully quiet and she had giggled silently, shoulders shaking with mirth, as he pulled out of her. Her laughter only intensified as he attempted to fix her skirts while his legs wobbled unsteadily and he had to grip onto the solid surface for purchase. 

“You okay there, sailor?” 

He coughed and laughed, breath huffing out of his lungs as he watched her return to the few small items she had left to wash. He said nothing as he stepped up behind her, hook reaching around her to pluck the socks from her hands. “Go upstairs,” he ordered softly, voice low as his breath tickled against her ear. 

“I’m almost done,” she argued leaning into his touch. 

“Aye, maybe so, Swan, but we’re not. Go upstairs, and I’ll join you in a moment. Be ready for me, my darling.” 

Her breath hitched and she stilled for a moment. They hadn't been this way before, it had been the soft touches of first things, a mixture of getting to know each other and being careful of whatever lines they each possessed, which the other didn’t know of. But here, in the dark safety of the kitchen, the smell of milled soap clinging to her and her eyes blown wide, something had shifted between them once more. They were comfortable together. She trusted him. He had known that of course, but it was different, knowing something with your head and knowing it in your heart. 

“Don’t be long, Captain,” she breathed his title against his lips before turning away from him towards the stairs. 

Killian stood for a moment watching the empty doorway, listening to her footfall race up the stairs. 

His heart pounded in his chest. _He loved her._

* * *

Emma sank down onto him, wet and hot and needy. She whispered nonsensical words into his skin, mouth never leaving his throat as she curled herself onto his chest. His arms held her fast to him as she rocked herself against him, a steady rhythm he met with his own well timed thrust, causing a gasp to pull from her lips each time. Her breath was hot against his skin. Nails biting into the back of his shoulder blades. His hand held her hip steady as he tried desperately to ground her, giving her purchase in this world that was spinning too fast and out of control around them both. He was determined, hair a mess from her fingers, charms digging almost painfully into the hollow of his throat, to anchor her to him. _To them._

She pushed up then, hands pressing into his chest; her fingers curling into the coarse hair, the nip of pain causing a quick lick of tension up his spine. Her movement was becoming more erratic and desperate, lovely face pinched as if she was chasing something she wasn’t able to catch. 

Killian moved his hand up her back to steady her and sat up before flipping them. He pinned her under him and ran his hand, pressure firm and solid against her flushed skin, down her body to where they were joined. He teased her clit for a moment before pressing lightly with his thumb. 

She tensed, eyes tightly shut. 

“Emma,” he coaxed as he pulled out of her slowly, electing a deep frustrated whine. “Look at me, love.” 

Green eyes opened slowly to meet blue; his gaze traced over her body as he sank down on the bed, hand gently moving behind her knee to lift it and place it down again on his shoulder. 

Her body relaxed almost instantly and he felt a swell of foolish male pride. She had mentioned to him their first night together that she had never been comfortable like this with anyone. He had been worried for a moment that he had crossed a line and was about to apologize before she had blushed prettily and confessed in a whisper that she hadn’t trusted anyone before like she trusted him. 

He nipped at the junction of her thigh, causing her to yelp with surprise, head thrown back giggling between please of his name. 

“Swan?” he asked, licking a trail up the crease of her right thigh. She gasped and tugged on his hair again. “Is this,” he licked the other side, “permanent?” 

“What?” she gasped. His tongue swiped across her smooth, bare skin again; fingers brushing her lightly. 

“Is this permanent? I had wondered.” He knew there were certain grooming techniques for this kind of thing, but Emma had been smooth and bare since he had first tasted her, and it was a most intriguing kind of magic. 

“Ah, yes,” she almost shouted when he teased her before sliding a digit into her slowly. “I had it done,” she moaned, and panted for a moment as he curled finger, finding that perfect place, which had her eyes roll into the back of her head. “I had it done,” he added another finger, fucking her slowly while looking at her patiently for her to answer his question. “Years ago.” she finished, keening quietly, and biting her lip hard to keep from shouting, lest they awakened the whole house. 

He hummed, resuming his wandering perusal of her folds with the tip of his tongue. She bowed off the bed, panting his name once more. 

“Please,” she sighed, hands still in his hair. “Please, Killian.” 

“In a moment. Come for me first, darling.” He shushed her and bit softly down on the bundle of nerves he’d been avoiding in favour of torturing her a little longer. She came then, a rolling, overwhelming sensation that tugged low in her belly and shuddered through her body slowly. It seemed to go on and on as he coaxed her through it, fingers gentle yet demanding. 

He returned back to her, moving up her body, pressing featherlight kisses across her skin until he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her, long and slow. 

He made love to her then; hand cradling her face, thumb caressing her cheek as he moved unhurried inside her. She sighed as he settled inside her, sheltering his hips between her legs and tracing her fingers across his scars. He breathed a promise to her. A vow. The small space between then quiet and calm. 

“I’m here, Emma.”

* * *

Killian Jones had made an art of studying Emma Swan. 

Ever since he had the pleasure of having her knife pressed menacingly to his throat, he had been in awe of her. It was the look in her eyes when she told him they were the same, that he could stop running and be a part of something that had made him come back. He had watched her in Neverland, seen the tension in the shoulders and her sheer strength of will which kept the others together and moving forward. He had watched her face in the Echo Cave when her mother declared she wanted another child. 

_She wants a do-over baby,_ Emma had hissed into his chest in the bowels of the _Jolly_ after checking on Henry and studiously avoiding Baelfire. _Neal_ . She had allowed him to hold her, a moment of comfort, and he heard her unspoken pain, _But what about me?_

He had seen her with Neal, awkward and angry. He had seen what her parents had failed to - Neal had betrayed her. Neal had hurt her. _Neal had never deserved her._

She hadn’t shared that tale with him, and he had not asked. She would tell him when she was ready. Emma’s past was a tangled, private thing - and as much as he wanted to brandish a sword against it and dispel the remnants of pain left behind, he could not. 

Emma hadn’t been used to inactivity and had paced back and forth down the hallways of the small trio of rooms they had graciously been given by their hosts. But as the days wore on and the wind got colder, his Swan had become increasingly more listless. 

She would curl up alone for hours, wand in her hands, staring at the fire or out the window. Lost in thought. Emma had told him, in hushed tones against his hot skin one night, that she was used to moving from place to place, _never really had a home before_ . They had that in common as well. His life had been spent wandering the seas in a desperate attempt to find a place to belong. How strange that they would find each other, centuries apart, _lost and found all at once._

Two sides of the same lonely coin. 

* * *

Her fingers were loose in his as they walked back from the barn, Alec had been grazed earlier by the ornery mare, who enjoyed taking aim and unsuspecting visitors in her barn. He had sidestepped to avoid a puddle and she sent him off cursing, and complaining, and threatening a variety of nefarious fates all the way back up the hill to the house. He was still grumpy after dinnertime and Emma had volunteered to close up the barn for the night. So, with Killian by her side, she had fed, watered and given the mare a gentle dressing down as she plied her with handfuls of sweet grass from the doorway. 

“Bribery, Swan?” He asked quietly, standing well back from the cantankerous beast. 

“She likes me.” 

“She likes grass. Be careful, love. She’s a miserable one.” Emma shrugged and rubbed the horse’s ears fondly before pushing back from the low stable wall. She had stopped as he latched the barn, making sure the pin was set tightly - he didn’t relish the idea of chasing goats through the underbrush again. 

Emma stood gazing upwards, the stars bright in the sky. They were stars he had known all his life, and they were comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. Emma made a small noise in her throat and started walking towards the house. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing. It’s just weird being somewhere where the stars are all different,” she shrugged again. 

_Ah._

He pulled back gently on her hand, stopping her so that she turned towards him.

“I imagine it is,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pointing into the sky above them. “The cluster of bright stars is called The Army. It’s only visible in the late autumn but vastly helpful in westward travel.” His voice was quiet and calm and he could feel her relax against him. He wove a tale of adventure on foreign soil and a vengeful king who, mad with despair over the loss of his kingdom, had banished his defeated army to the heavens. 

“Would you teach me more?” she asked, wrapping her hands, fingers chilled from the wind, around his wrists. 

“Aye, I would love to.” 

“I don't know much about stars at home either…” she continued and he kissed her hair. 

“Well then, Swan, once we’re home, your lad and I will be happy to teach you.” 

“Henry?” It was the first time she had said his name in two days and he squeezed her solidly against his chest. 

“Aye, I taught him a bit before we... left.” 

“You did?” There were tears in her voice. 

“Belle assisted me with the star charts; she had a few books in the library,” he trailed off, heart squeezing in memory of those who had been left behind. He had tried to contain his grief, but the wound of losing Henry above all the other festered and hurt daily. “I taught Baelfire how to navigate by the stars, it seemed only right to teach Bae’s lad as well.” 

_I don’t think that’s how GPS works…_ the pain intensified once more and he took a long slow breath to try and calm himself. Her fingers tightened against his skin and she let go the breath she had been holding. 

They stood this way for a while longer, the bright spattering of stars above them, both lost in the reality of everything they had lost. 

“Killian,” she whispered as he closed the heavy kitchen door behind them, latching the pin in place. He turned to find her standing there, open and vulnerable and so very beautiful in the dark. 

“Yes, love?” he voice caught, he could read her well, could see the words forming behind her eyes, but she blinked several times and smiled a different kind of smile instead. 

“Thank you… for teaching Henry about the stars.” 

“Of course, love.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue and he bit it back. A declaration, a vow and a pledge all rolled into one. She wasn’t ready to hear it, but he let her see it in his eyes. 

_I love you._

* * *

_TWACK._

“He abandoned you?” she asked, voice low and stunned as she watched him wield the hatchet again with amazing accuracy and finesse for a man with only one hand. 

Fiona had declared after Alec had sat down with them for breakfast that the house didn’t have near enough firewood to get through the winter, and Alec had appointed him and Emma the task of rectifying that. Fee had been appalled; she had meant _he should do it_ , but Killian had waved her off. He hadn’t wielded an axe in years, but he was no stranger to it. Alec had been immensely proud of himself for delegating the task as he and Emma had headed out to split the pile of dried wood beside the house. 

“Aye,” he swung again. The solid chop of the blade into the stump felt hollow as he lined up the fallen half to split again before continuing. “Sold us, Liam and I. To save himself.” 

Her jaw twitched. She wore the same fierce expression she had the night he had told her about Milah and his history with the crocodile. Angry for the injustices leveled against him over the course of his life. 

“Your mother?” she asked, setting another armload of split wood against the house. 

“Gone. Fever.” Blade embedded in the scarred wood once more. 

Her arms slid around him and she rested her forehead on his chest, her body warm against his. He laid his chin on the top of her head and they stayed that way together for some time, before she rose up on her toes to press a soft lingering kiss to the bottom of his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes searching his own as he stepped back from her, guiding her away from the danger of the blade before balancing another log on the stump. 

“It’s alright, love. It was a long time ago.” And he swung the hatchet again. 

* * *

Light poured in the room. The gentle murmur from the slowly awakening house, which had become familiar over the last almost week, had broken through his hazy dream of summer sunshine on the deck of the _Jolly_ . A muffled shout from below them, _the bloody cat again._

The bed was still warm beside him, though vacant, as his hand searched for her. 

Emma was standing bathed in light at the window, curtains drawn back, the lace trim between her fingers as she surveyed the world outside. He took a moment to study her, her hair was a tangle of blonde curls, they floated around her shoulders; still fuzzy from the comfort of their bed and it hung around her like a veil of gold. The light from the morning sun shone against the woven fabric of her robe, which she had wrapped tightly around her. 

She glanced his way then, face cast in half shadow as she turned away from the light of the outside world. They stayed that way, silently regarding each other for the space of several heartbeats, until he raised his hand in quiet invitation. She came to him, sliding onto the side of the bed by his waist, leaning down to kiss him gently, fingers scratching through the scruff on his chin. 

“It snowed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I'm taking a much needed mini vacation to plot and write for the next few weeks, but myself and The Ripple Effect will be back on Friday, February 12!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at The-DarkDragonfly
> 
> xox


	7. A Long Cold Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!  
> I know it's been a few weeks since the last update, but I took some much needed time off and it did me a world of good. 
> 
> This chapter is longer than my typical updates - so hopefully I'm forgiven for my absence! 😘
> 
> I also wanted to thank you all for loving this story along with me, it's so much fun to create and I love sharing it with you. 
> 
> And last but not least, thank you to @elizabeethan & @donteatheappleshook for beta'ing this monster and for being all round amazing human beings ❤️❤️

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

The now familiar smell wafted up from the small glass bottle, pungent and distasteful, as soon as the cork was released. 

She had found it, resting along with two other identical bottles, on her small night stand along with another coiled length of sky blue ribbon. 

They had both been with Alec at the warehouse, holed up in the small office above the working floor for a couple of hours when Killian had announced he needed to run an errand and swept out of the door. Alec had been grumbling over the cost of the grain stores while Emma was slowly figuring out the complicated ledgers when heavy boots announced his return. He hadn’t been gone long and had come back bearing lunch. 

Emma coughed, body still unused to the smell even after a week of tasting the liquid; a shiver ran down her spine in rebellion. The tonic was thick and clung in an oily film inside her mouth. 

She had made a mental note the first morning she drank it; quickly added it to her list of things she missed from back home. She was trying to keep her list to a top three, but she had argued with Killian one evening as she heated up yet another kettle for the large tub, she couldn’t possibly be expected to choose between a washing machine and a shower. They bickered back and forth on the rules of the game, until she finally plucked the near whistling kettle off the stove top with a thick rag and announced she missed indoor plumbing, _so there, Captain,_ and sashayed ahead of him up the stairs. 

She stood, gagging against the foul aftertaste, watching the snow drift down from the trees in front of their window. Nodding to herself as the cork popped back into the neck of the small vile; she was definitely adding modern birth control to her list. 

She had picked up the unmarked bottles one by one, turning them over in her hands. A soft click from the closing of the bedroom door sounded behind her and she turned to find Killian standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. His face heated and she tilted her head at him in a silent question. He was cute, flustered like this, the bravado and swagger of the infamous pirate stripped away. Here alone with her, he was simply himself. 

“What are these?” she asked, popping the cork out and bringing the bottle close to her nose, snorting involuntarily when the fumes from the contents hit her senses. She coughed dramatically and set the bottle back again and claimed, “they aren’t perfume.” 

“No, love,” he tugged his woolen sweater which Fiona had stuffed him into that morning over his head and set it to dry on the chair by the window. Fee had been irritated by his constant claims that he wasn’t cold, and had argued with him each time he went outside. It had been a week since the snow had first settled around them and she had clearly decided to take matters into her own hands. She had threatened him with a hat as well and he rushed out of the kitchen before she could pull it down onto his head. _Still too young to have any sense at all_ , Fiona had proclaimed as the kitchen door snapped shut behind him. Emma had burst out laughing, having to bury her face in her hands as tears threatened to spill down her face. She had squeaked out a reply when she had collected herself enough to speak; suggesting no matter old, some men just didn’t have a common sense bone in their body. Fiona had agreed quickly, kicking the bottom metal door on the large oven closed with her foot. 

“You’re right on that score, darling girl,” Emma heart swelled whenever Fiona called her by a pet name, “they could live to be three hundred and still not know enough to come in from the rain.” Emma had dissolved again, grinning like a fool as she and Fee continued their morning routine. 

He had come up to her, unbuckling his brace as he did and tossing it onto the bed beside them. She moved then, one step to close the distance between them, and placed her hands gently on his arm, massaging the tight muscles in silence until she felt him relax under her fingers. He smiled at her and brushed his hand against her neck, shifting her curtain of hair back across her shoulder. 

“No, Swan. It’s not perfume. Those are,” he looked shyly at her again, hand moving to scratch behind his ear, his tell. “They have a more medicinal purpose.” 

He had gotten progressively more red as he had explained the instructions the apothecary had prescribed, apologizing for taking so long to acquire the tonic, and finally assuring her there were other methods that could be used should she not wish for whatever reason to take it. She kissed him, murmuring thanks against his stubbled jaw and wrapped her arms around him. 

She assured him, voice soft and steady against his chest, the smell of sawdust and sweat clinging to his skin, that they would be perfect, thanking him while dragging her nails lightly down his chest. The scratch of course hair was calming under her fingers. 

Her shot was due to run out at any time and it was starting to feel reckless, like they were tempting fate. She had also figured out that the strange scraps of fabric were for, and had added tampons to her list of things she missed as well. 

She raised up to press a kiss against his jaw again, lingering there for a moment before taking the small bottle into her hand again. “Everyday?” she asked, blushing slightly at the intimacy of the situation. Never before had anyone ever looked after her like this, it was at once overwhelming and immensely settling. 

“Aye,” he nodded, taking the bottle from her and giving it an experimental sniff, face twisting in disgust. 

“Okay, even when I…” 

He smiled softly, handing the bottle back to her, “Aye, even then.” 

She had nodded and taken the small spoon that had rested with the bottles off the table, tipping the liquid onto it and gulping it down quickly before her other senses could take over. She gagged, and sputtered, a shiver running down her back against the syrup-thick feeling. 

“Well,” she chased the tonic with a shot of water, “that’s fucking terrible.” 

He laughed and tugged at the laces of his trousers as she finished pulling the laces of her bodice away and folded the garment neatly into her drawer. Her eye caught on the glinting piece of wood and her heart thudded. _The wand._

They had been lost here over a month. What would they think? Her parents? Henry? Even Regina. Were they trying to find her? Did they have the storybook? Had they somehow seen that she and Killian were safe, _and together, and they were making it work?_

She missed them. Her chest constricted painfully and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of regret. She had spent so much time planning to leave. To run away. But now, she would trade anything to be with them again. Killian flopped dramatically down on the bed, heaving a heavy sigh as he settled into the deep nest of blankets, a book he had pilfered from Alec’s small library held loosely in his hand, as he settled his other arm behind his head. The book was in Latin and she was fairly certain he was only reading it to show off for her. 

_No_ , she thought with certainty, closing the drawer with one last glance at the broken, useless wand. _There were some things she would never trade._

* * *

Alec had promised that it would, eventually, stop snowing. But every morning, with each new dusting of snow, Emma’s confidence in the promise of a coming spring started to fade. 

She took a large bite from the flakey pastry that Killian had brought back from Tyneside yesterday, the soft notes of butter and citrus alive on her tongue. He had produced them with a flourish and a kiss on her cheek as she had sat with Salem on her knee in the kitchen with Fiona, having been granted the coveted job of potato chopper. Alec had teased her as he walked into the fire-warmed room behind Killian, snow wet in his hair, that she had officially usurped him. Though he quickly hushed her when she teased back, rising from the stool and offering him the space. Fee had rolled her eyes and shooed the men away; flicking her towel after them as she warned against dripping melting snow on her fresh floors. 

Emma pulled on her leather boots over top of the warm socks Fiona had knit for her before grabbing the thick bristled broom from the doorway. With the last bite of the pastry jammed into her mouth, she shouldered her way out into the cold. 

“ _It’s beginning to look a lot like fuck this_ ,” she sang quietly to herself as she swept snow away from the kitchen door. It was starting to look a hell of a lot like Christmas, that dreaded holiday full of fake happy memories of watching Henry grow up tangled alongside the real ones of being alone all her life. 

“Articulate as ever, Swan.” She jumped at the familiar voice behind her, he had snuck up on her through the soft carpet of snow. 

“I can’t tell you how much I hate winter,” she leaned against the handle of the broom, watching him. 

“I believe I have a general idea,” he smirked, tromping through the knee high drift at the side of the house. 

He had left early that morning. 

His expression grim and worried, at a loss for how to comfort her, he had sat with her in silence as the sun broke across the sky, bright against the dark of the forest. She had been sullen and angry and had sat holding the broken wand again with a scowl on her face. He had tried to talk to her, but she snapped at him and he had retreated. 

“I’m sorry,” she confessed, hand toying with the handle of the broom. 

“For minding the cold? No need, Swan.” 

“For this morning. I was a bitch to you and I am so sorry.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. His eyes narrowed and he crossed the remaining distance quickly, taking the broom from her and leaning it against the wall. He snagged his hook around the belt of her pants and pulled her to him. 

“I’ve told you Emma, you needn't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.” His face was earnest and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had taken. “And don’t call yourself that.” He added in a growling tone. 

“It’s just…” she leaned into him, the scratch of the wool sweater lighting against the cool skin of her cheek. “I’m so angry. I’m angry at Gold, at Zelena, at that stupid broken wand. At myself.” A horse whinnied in the stable and the sound pulled her back from her errant thoughts. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, none of this is your fault.” 

“It’s not yours either, love.” he said quietly, voice firm. She didn’t bother arguing with him, because it was her fault a little bit. Had she not been so desperate to run away from everything all the time, neither of them would be stuck here. But she didn’t want to get into that again with him, stubborn as they both were. So she shrugged slightly and tucked her nose into his chest to keep it warm before muttering, “it’s just bullshit.” 

* * *

Emma huffed out an aggravated sigh, jaw clenching as her hands tightened into fists. The terrible feeling of forgetting something horrible and painful for a moment only to have it snap back into focus flared to life inside her. 

_Would Regina be happy now?_ Emma wondered, staring out the window as the snow blew swirling patterns outside the glass. The small room was cozy, the fire in the corner crackling with the heady smell of peat. Would Regina be secretly relieved that she was no longer in Henry’s life? Would she pretend to help, pouring over spell books and potions knowing she was able to keep her son to herself? 

Or worse, would Henry believe she had left him? Would her parents think she had run away? 

Killian had held onto the stubborn belief that her family would somehow be in the possession of the Storybook, _but what if they weren’t?_

She could hear Fee pottering around swapping out sheets and quilts for freshly laundered bedclothes, her heavy footfall traipsing up and down the stairs as she hummed to herself. Fiona’s presence in Emma’s life was wonderfully sudden and confusing. She had so little time with her own mother, and no matter how hard she tried, Emma had a difficult time reconciling the idea of being the same age as her parents. Curses and fairytales might be a reality for her now, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She loved them, of course she did, but she missed their friendship some days so thoroughly that she felt adrift in their new relationship. They wanted what was best for her, but her walls were high and they hadn’t tried to scale them. Not like Henry had. _Not like Killian._ They had simply hugged her, pronounced themselves her family and proceeded to dole out hope speeches and unwanted advice as if she were a child; not a woman of nearly thirty who had survived on her own for that long. 

She closed her eyes, breath shaking with effort to recall Henry’s face. The hopeful intelligence of that tenacious ten year old who knocked on her door and brought her home. Because that’s what he had done for her. And she had repaid that by shutting them out. 

A tear escaped down her cheek. 

She had been angry at her parents in Neverland. Frustrated with them when she had returned from New York. But she also hadn’t told them _why_ she was pulling away from them. They knew nothing of her history with Neal, nor the kinship she had felt with Killian. Her father hadn’t approved of Hook and she had appreciated him for that, annoying as it was. Appreciated him for trying to protect her, for scowling at Killian the way she wished he had been there to scowl at Neal; to save her from that heartache. But he hadn’t been and that was as much his fault as it was hers; so she left it and simply withdrew from them instead. 

More tears leaked down her face and she angrily dashed them away. 

_It’s only stress._ She had been trying to self-soothe for nearly an hour to no avail. It was a term Mary Margaret- Emma stopped and huffed again- her _mother_ had used in the weeks leading up to the birth of her brother. 

Snow had talked at length about the importance of knowing when to intervene and when to allow the child to learn to calm themselves. Emma had listened to her for hours on end, reciting all manner of things she had read from parenting books. The feeling of the words sour and thick on her heart. _Self soothing_. Emma had learned that at an early age. She remembered crying. Alone in the dark of a room that would never be hers. The knowledge of having to be as quiet as possible as to not disturb the rest of the house. She could not have been more than four years old. Not in school yet, wearing clothes two sizes too big simply because no one cared enough to provide for her properly.

She had listened to Snow as she had sat glowing in the small living room of the loft, bright eyed and excited to be a mother _for the first time. Oh! I’m sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean that._ No one had taught Emma how to soothe herself. No one had cared about that either. She remembered the time she had come back from school, angry at a classmate who had pushed her on the playground and teased her for being what she was. ‘Orphan Annie’ they had tauntingly called her, not understanding what it meant to be alone and unwanted. She had cried the whole way back to her foster home, crossing streets by herself as she watched parents hold their children’s hands and teach them how to be safe in a world that caused nothing but pain. 

She had stomped into the kitchen, still wearing her shoes, flakes of dirt crusting off onto the worn yellowed linoleum. The stern woman had yelled, struck her and seized her by the back of the much-too-large-sweater. Anger had smoldered the embers of her pain, sharpening her edges and sliding one more brick onto the wall she was building around herself. One more moment of pain. They had made her stand outside on the porch until well past dinner; alone and shivering as the sky darkened above her. They refused to feed her that night and had forced her to clean the floor while tears leaked down her face, hands burning from the too-hot water frothy with cheap, harsh soap. She wouldn’t have been any older than seven years old. 

No one had taught Emma how to self soothe, for it was the only thing she had ever known innately. 

_It’s only stress,_ she thought again, stronger this time as she stopped to glare at the fire. She has been agitated since dawn, muscles sore with a lingered ghosting of promised discomfort radiating from her lower abdomen. 

But it wasn’t just hormones and she knew it in her heart. She knew the feeling of being replaced. Of being discarded and never quite good enough. She could feel them- her parents- sitting in the loft, rocking the new baby. Talking of hope and a future without her in it. Emma could almost hear Snow’s voice, soft and close to tears, begging David to find a way for them all to be together, all the while knowing that they couldn’t be. _At least she had a baby to hold this time, so perhaps that would be enough._ It wasn’t fair, what she was imagining. She knew that but with every angry step across the room and back again, Emma’s agitation increased, walls creeping ever higher. 

_A do-over baby._ How many times had she feared that? First in the echo caves on that God forsaken island and again when Killian had found her in the bowels of his ship. She stopped pacing and sagged slightly in memory of that quiet moment on the _Jolly_. He had been unsure, tentative to reach for her. She had escaped the casualness of Neal’s unwelcome attention, the fear for Henry and the overwhelming irritation she had felt as her parents gazed at her with hope for a True Love ending with a man who had betrayed and abandoned her when she was too young to know better. His hook had rested solidly on her waist and she had breathed him in, the solidness of his scent, a hint of rum, sea salt and warmth. She hadn’t cried, but she hadn’t pulled away. 

Emma had known then. She had always known… 

She paced again. 

Once. Twice. Thrice more across the small spance of flooring between their small bedroom and the fireplace.

Her hands had closed into fists and she jumped out of her skin when the door opened wide suddenly. 

Killian stepped through, taking in the sight of her before heading straight to the bedroom. Emma narrowed her eyes in his direction but before she could follow him, he returned. 

“Get your coat, Swan,” he brandished two swords she hadn’t noticed before with the leather roll of knives stuffed under his arm before leaving her staring after him. She called after his retreating form, but his voice was muffled from below in the kitchen and she had to run down the stairs to catch him. 

Emma slipped her boots over her sock-clad feet, toes curling against the chill of the stone floor. Killian was across the yard now, trudging through the snow with his collection of weaponry. 

“What are we doing?” she puffed from having to run to keep up with him. They had stopped in a clearing, the snow lightly scattered on the ground, sheltered as it was by the bows of the surrounding trees. 

“Sparring. Here, love.” He handed her one of the swords and she wiped the melted snow on her palms away on her pants. They were soft leather and incredibly comfortable; having belonged to Fee’s daughter Bonnie for chorework. She had ended up wearing them most days to help Fiona around the farm. 

Killian tossed the leather roll onto the ground and took a practice swipe through the air with the other cutlass. The swords were blunted, intended solely for practice. 

“I know your heart is uneasy, Emma.” He took up a defensive position, one she was familiar with. They had done this before, playing with snapped off branches while trudging through the forest after an errant goat. 

The blade felt solid and nimble in her grasp, as she lunged towards his neat parry. Killian anticipated her strikes, his footwork confident and solid. She brought the blade up once more and as they worked each other around in a tight circle, Killian offered advice every so often; she felt the weight of the anger and desperate loneliness start to dissipate. 

“And,” he pushed her back several steps, controlling the flow of their spar with the ease of a long practiced swordsman. Sweat gathered at the base of her neck and her lungs had started to burn with effort; her attention had waived at the unpleasant memory and he had taken careful advantage of it. “It’s my job,” he spun and parried her again. Metal clashed against metal, the sound harsh and startling in the quiet of the clearing. Holding her blade steady, a flash of a different memory skittered across her mind, a sandy beach and flurry of black leather and a man who had allowed her to win. Their swords now slid against each other while his handsome earnest face pressed several inches from her own, “well, I hope it’s my job,” he smiled shyly as she blinked up at him, “to protect your heart.” He slowly spun their blade around in a wide arch, breaking contact to step back from her once more. 

Emma gasped then, overwhelmed by the admission. Her anger of the last hour leaving her like water from a broken vase. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, sword hanging loose now in her hand. Killian tossed his blade to the ground and came to her, hand sliding up her arm, cupping her face. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love.” 

She sniffed and let the pommel fall from her grip to the ground beside them, hands coming to rest on the warm, thick wool of his sweater. “Where did you get the swords?” 

“Oh, they’re Alec’s. I found them in the shed.” They stood that way for a while, the forest calm around them. 

“I brought your wee knives, as well, if you’d like to practice,” his voice was soft and oddly shy. She pulled away slightly from him and nodded; throwing small daggers at trees was precisely what she needed.

They stayed out until dusk threatened overhead in the sky. Emma wrapped the knives carefully in the leather roll as Killian shouldered both sparring swords, flakes of snow dusting his hair. 

Dinner ended up being just the two of them; Fiona and Alec had gone to a neighboring farm several hours ago and likely would not return until the morning. They foraged in the pantry and had taken a picnic of random food up to their room; Salem’s sleek black silhouette flitting ahead of them up the stairs. She had perched on the bed cross legged as Killian had sprawled out next to her, hair tousled and towel-dried from the falling snow. Emma has sat in front of the fire once Killian had managed to light it with stiff cold fingers, brushing out her tresses until they were dry enough for bed. 

They spoke of their childhoods; carefully at first, each tiptoeing around the subject. He had told her tales of Liam, _a good man,_ voice wistful and forlorn. Emma had taken his blunted wrist in both her hands as he spoke, massaging the scarred flesh firmly. _Like you,_ she had whispered holding his eyes with hers and he pulled her against him. Dinner forgotten, he set about devouring her thoroughly. 

Dull throbbing pain woke her as it rumbled across her lower abdomen, sharp and nauseating. Emma swore quietly under her breath and eased herself carefully from the bed; gently detangling Killian’s hand from the covers over her shoulder. She dashed through the door of the small closet attached to their bedroom. 

_Well,_ she thought as she sat gently on the side of the tub, carefully wiping herself with a cloth dipped in the freezing cold water from the basin, _I’m not pregnant, so that’s something._ The cold was a shock and she hissed under her breath. 

She had quickly added tampons to the secret growing list of things that were better back home ever since she figured out what the scraps of fabric were that the seamstress had provided her with. She sat for a while in the freezing cold bathroom, bottom ice cold on the rim of the tub. Her head fell into her hands and she sighed heavily, allowing herself a moment of pity before fishing through the small bag on the back of the door and tugging the gartered undergarment up her legs. 

“This is hot,” she muttered to herself, before her sarcasm was cut short by another roll of cramping, and she held a hand firmly against her belly. She usually stayed as quiet as possible, with the shot she only dealt with this a few times a year. But now, without the aid of drugs and heating pads, she had resigned herself to the reality of being miserable. 

“Swan?” Killian’s worried voice came from the other side of the door, a light knock echoed in the small room.  
  
She swore again under her breath and stood. “Coming.” The door swung open with a quiet groan of cold metal and she tugged her shift subconsciously down around her legs. It was full dark outside, dawn an hour still away, and she could just barely make out the look of concern on his face. He was clad in a pair of linen sleep pants, hair tousled in a way that made her fingers itch to run through it. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” she was able to grind out before another wave of pain hit her. It was always like this, she got them less often, but when she did they were terrible. 

“You're not fine, Emma! What’s wrong?” he was fully awake now, stance defensive as if he could fight against the pain which was rolling through her. 

“I’m fine, my stomach just hurts that’s all. I’ll be fine.” 

He stood staring at her, before turning to shrug on a shirt and disappearing through the door to head down the stairs to the kitchen. 

He arrived back a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea in his hand. 

“It’s peppermint, Swan,” he whispered, ushering her down into the nest of blankets once more. “It’ll help.” 

He had been right, as he usually was, the tea did help and she had managed to fall back asleep for a time. 

* * *

Weeks stretched into months as the winter season settled firmly around them. The port in Tyneside was quiet and Alec had spent more and more time in the study, pouring over ledgers with Killian until the small hours of the morning. Tax season was around the corner and Alec was busy teaching him everything he needed to know. 

Emma had teased him, leaning across his shoulders as he sat hunched over an account book sorting through the inventory and wastage at one of the businesses. She had squeezed his chest in an awkward hug and inquired about payment of his piracy taxes. He had called her hilarious with a roll of his eyes and she was thrilled by her silly joke. 

“What do you think, love?” he asked as he shut the account book for the night, snuffing out the candle on the desk between two fingers. Emma had curled up with a book in the corner by the small fire, settled rather awkwardly into a large wingback chair. 

“Mmm?” she looked up at the interruption as he pushed away from the desk, crossing the small study to reach her, hand caressing the back of her head. Her eyes closed as his fingers massaged the base of her neck and she leaned into his touch. 

“The Hogmanay celebration Fiona mentioned at dinner. Would you like to go?” His voice was a soft rumble like distant thunder in the quiet of the room. She hadn’t known what Hogmanay was, though Killian seemed to be familiar with it, but Fiona’s contagious excitement had buzzed through her the entire evening meal. 

“What is it?” she asked, placing the book down after noting the page number. It was an adventure story which Killian had read the month prior, turning the pages reverently while admitting that he had had this novel aboard the Jolly, but it had been Liam’s and he had never opened it. 

“A celebration of sorts, we used to partake in it when I was a lad, before my mother died,” he swallowed, old memories floating close to the surface. “We’d go to neighboring homes, there was always food and drink and we could stay up late.” 

“Sounds lovely,” she smiled at him, accepting his hand to help her rise from her strangely comfortable position. 

“Aye, it was,” he agreed, pulling the door open with his hook and ushering her out ahead of him into the darkened hallway. “A nice way to welcome a new year.” 

“Oh, okay,” she whispered, climbing the first stair and stopping to face him, they were eye level like this and she leaned towards him to take advantage of it. “Like New Years Eve, I guess.” Her lips were a breath away from his and she kept her voice just above a whisper, watching his eyes darken slightly further in response. She kissed him, one hand resting on his chest, the feel of his charms under the sweater like a familiar anchor in the dark. Her other hand tracing lightly across his jaw, caressing the stubble there. 

“We should go, it will be fun,” she pulled back to watch him before turning to climb the stairs slowly, her hand trailing to his as she pulled him up behind her. 

The party was a loud, splendidly unruly affair. Emma had been shuffled off with Fiona into Tyneside the very next day, after announcing casually that she and Killian would love to attend the Hogmanay party, if that was still on offer. Fee had bustled about in the kitchen before ordering Alec to have the sledge brought around as they needed a few things- which Emma realized later meant an entire new wardrobe for the occasion- for the party. 

The dress she had found was perfect. It fit her like a glove and as soon as Fiona had spotted it in the window of the small shop, she had dragged Emma inside to try it on. 

It was a heavy silk fabric, cream coloured with golden yellow stitching. The ribbons on the back were golden as well and the whole dress seemed to glow around her. Better yet, it was finished and had promptly been wrapped up along with a pair of new stockings and a matching ribbon for her hair. Fiona had smiled knowingly at her as the seamstress tallied their purchases. The young woman disappeared briefly into the back of the store, a heavy curtain falling into place as she dashed out to retrieve a sash for Fiona’s new bodice. 

Fee turned to her once the woman was gone, a smirk on her lips. 

“That husband of yours will be fond of this, I think,” she winked. 

“We aren’t married, Fee,” Emma whispered, ashamed to have lied to her friend for so long. She turned her head away slightly, hair blowing in the gentle breeze from the crack of the sliding pane of glass at the window. The air was cool on her skin and she flushed in spite of the cold. 

“Oh, darling girl,” Fiona replied softly, chucked gently under the chin with a crooked forefinger and smiled, “I think you are.” 

Emma hadn’t known what to say in response and was saved from it entirely by the reappearance of the young lady, who produced two different shades of blue wide ribbon and allowed Fiona to choose the darker of them for her dress. 

Fiona had been correct of course, Killian had indeed appreciated the gown. They complimented each other nicely, her in a bright vision of light gold, him dressed darkly in his long leather coat, he looked every bit the pirate who had braved an unknown world to rescue her in New York. 

Mead and mulled wine had flowed freely as a band played. They had arrived by sleigh, the snow deeper the further into the woods towards the neighboring farm they went. The music could be heard from down the road as Alec turned them towards the sounds of the festivities. Fee was alive with excitement, and she chatted away the whole ride there, on who would be there, who wouldn’t be and why that was probably a good thing. Emma had huddled close to Killian’s side, wrapped warmly in her grey cloak and buried under a mountain of blankets, listening contentedly as Alec maneuvered the horses through the gate and towards the barn. 

A young boy had run out to meet them, dressed warmly with large mittens stuffed onto his hands. He helped Alec unhook the horses and lead them into the stable to be looked after for the evening as Fee took Emma’s elbow and led her, Killian trailing after them a half step behind into the chaotic glow of the large house.

They had danced, spinning around in a tight circle, bodies jostling and laughing as they bumped into other couples. Children ran in between them; giggling and shrinking in a game of tag. The evening stretched long into the small hours of the next morning, and as they bundled back into the wagon, Alec red faced and grinning from one too many stouts, Emma felt some of the tension which she had held around her heart since they crash landed here unclench just a little. 

Fiona had introduced them both to various families, pulling them this way and that through the crowded house. It was hopeless to try to remember everyone so she smiled, and shook hands, and gushed over babies until Alec had pulled his wife away and they were left in relative peace for a while. Killian has swept her onto the dance floor, furniture pushed against the outside walls, leading her expertly in an energetic jig which had them both breathless and laughing, collapsing onto each other by the end of the song. He was a quick study and they spent the majority of the evening wrapped around each other, lost in a sea of couples. 

They had stopped for a while to enjoy a plate of roast meat and root vegetables when a little girl, no more than six, tugged on Killian’s coat; gesturing him down to her level. He had smiled and knelt, head tilted towards her as she asked him a question in a serious voice. He had nodded and held out his hook to her, her small fingers boldly wrapping around the metal. They stayed this way for a moment, before she cracked a smile at him, before flouncing away into the crowd once more. Killian grinned down as Emma wrapped her arm around his waist, quirking a brow at him in question. His smile softened as he pulled her close to murmur in her ear, breath tickling her neck sending a shiver down her spine despite the heat in the room around them. 

“She asked me if I was a knight,” his voice was deep and growled through her frame. She moved closer still. 

“And what did you tell her?” 

“I told her I was sworn to protect my Princess at all costs; that seemed to appease her.” 

* * *

The house was quiet, Alec and Fiona had yet to stir, having arrived back from the party in the small hours of the morning. 

Light fingers traced down her back, over the swell of her backside and finally down to the back of her knee. The sun was bright through the window as they lay sated together in the early afternoon glow. 

The wide hand switched sides, squeezing lightly at her knee before sliding back up her body, leaving a pleasant trail of warmth lingering in its wake. 

He stopped, silent as his thumb curved over a small scar she had forgotten. Silver against her fair skin, curving upwards against the back of her thigh. He said nothing and she relaxed again after a moment. 

She hadn’t thought of that scar in a long time; the consequence of having broken a glass when cleaning up from dinner. The lashing had been swift, shocking as it was in its intensity. No one had ever whipped her before, and the wound on her thigh had been a stark reminder of what other people could do to her. It had bled, she recalled, and could almost feel the weight of the knee between her shoulder blades, the hiss of the leather and the feel of her lungs burning as she screamed. He had struck her again, catching the inside of her leg as she kicked in a feeble attempt to escape. It hadn’t lasted long, but the wound had been tender for over a week and she was sufficiently afraid of the man who had come to stay with them. She had run away for good not long after that. She knew it was only a matter of time before that happened to her again. If she didn’t go, she knew she would once more be pinned to the dirty carpet as the woman who was paid to keep her alive snarled at her for deserving the pain. His knee would crush her chest to the ground and he would breath heavy above her once again, lashes raining down against her skin. 

_Or worse._

So she ran. Neal had asked her about it, groggy voiced and lazy one morning as she changed in the backseat of the Bug. She had lied, uncomfortable with him looking. Telling him of an injury on the playground at school when she was a kid; shrugging carelessly and he had dropped it. 

But Killian’s thumb stroked over the mark carefully, fingers curling ever so slightly against her bare skin. He knew what it was. He had marks of his own; painful memories carved into his skin, he was no stranger to the wielded power of others. He sat up sheet pooling across his hips, lowering his head to her leg and kissed the mark gently. Her throat closed for a moment and she drew in a shaky breath. Neither had spoken, and after a moment he had lain back down next to her, hand once again traveling the length of her body. 

“We’re quite the pair, you and I, aren’t we?” she asked after a time, tracing the crescent shaped scar on his upper abdomen. His eyes opened once again, he searched her face for a moment before smiling that small shy smile he reserved just for her. 

“Indeed we are, Swan.” 

* * *

A small warm weight had settled on her lap almost as soon as she had sunk into the chair in the study. Killian was settled against her chair, long legs stretched out in front of him. The fire had burned low over the evening, casting long, deep shadows around the room. He had a small plate of dried fruit beside him as an after dinner treat, having grown fond of the sweetness before bed and he reached back to her, gaze never leaving the bound leather book in his hands. Emma took the offering, popping the small berry into her mouth, enjoying the way the concentrated juice burst on her tongue. It tasted like raspberry and sent a shiver down her back from the familiar tartness of it. 

It hadn’t snowed in nearly a month, though the temperature had plummeted sharply and the frigid cold was far more intolerable than all of the snow. Alec had warned them, saying as soon as the snow stopped they would wish for it again. 

Salem shifted unhappily, squawking and meowing as he adjusted himself into a tight curl against her belly. She rested her hand against his silken black fur and smoothed her fingers lightly across his ears. Alec had conceded to allow the cat inside for the winter, issuing strict orders that the animal be returned to his rightful place in the barn as soon as the snow had melted. Fiona had simply rolled her eyes at her husband and plunked the small animal down onto the floor in front of a bowl of water set in the corner for him already. 

“Fiona is going to make you swab the deck if you track mud through the kitchen again,” she teased as the footfall of Alec going up the stairs echoed through the small den. 

“Aye,” he chuckled and popped a dried slice of apple into his mouth. “Wouldn’t be my first time scrubbing a floor, love. Nor my last, I’d wager.” 

She smiled softly, fingers carding through the soft hair at the back of his head, lost in memory. She took a steady breath and cracked her heart open a bit more. “Mine either” she whispered, slightly tense with the memory of the hard tiles under her knees, her belly twisting from hunger; the large sneaker clad feet which stood in front of her, threatening to kick her if she missed a spot. He noticed the change in her tone, the tenseness in her body, and turned to meet her eyes. 

They had been enjoying a quiet evening in the study, Killian stretched out on the floor in front of the fire, combing through a book of nautical adventures; Emma settled into the large wingback she had claimed as her own. His back leaned against the chair and she was enjoying the easiness of running her fingers through his hair as she read her book. Fiona had finished the short romance novel nearly a week ago and had declared it a must-read, pushing it into Emma’s hands one evening and sending her to the study to enjoy it almost immediately. 

Killian was silent, the book abandoned beside him on the thick carpet, but his eyes searched hers as she placed the novel down on the side table. Her voice was steady and she told him snippets of her time at the foster house that had taught her the hard way that a roof over your head didn’t mean you were wanted. 

He had growled, eyes darkening and she thought for a moment perhaps it was for the best they were here, in this land, far away from the reality of Mrs and Mr Henshawn. 

“We were a paycheque for them. That’s all,” she shrugged, his hand warm on her knee. 

“How long were you there?” his voice was rough, angry acceptance cutting through his tone. 

“A school year,” she stretched, tired suddenly and wanting him much closer to her than he was. “I went back to a group home after that.”

He stood, taking a moment to smolder the low fire before returning to her and reaching out his hand, rings warm on her skin. “Let’s go to bed, love.” 

* * *

“You are allowed to be happy, my darling girl.” 

Fee turned to leave, gathering the small pail of eggs they had hunted for in between the stalls; hands dirty and skirts scuffed with straw, offering her a small, sad smile as she went. The chickens had been moved over into the main barn for the winter. As the nights grew increasingly colder, the heat from the other livestock would keep them warmer and far more safe then they would be by themselves in the coop. Emma had helped Fee move the birds months ago; shrieking in fright as they flapped and evaded attempts of capture. Alone with her thoughts, the smell of hay and horse was strong in her nose. She turned toward the stall, hand outstretched to rub Saoirse’s ears as the mare nickered in contentment. 

The horse was a mildly unpleasant animal; Alec swore she was possessed by the devil himself, but Emma had always felt an affinity with the cantankerous mare. She had come from an auction the summer before last, Alec had told her leaning against a pitchfork full of hay one afternoon before the snow had come. He hadn’t needed another animal, but the horse had looked straight at him through the spilt rails of the holding stall and he knew she would be going home with him that day. 

Emma suspected the lovely animal had been mistreated in a past life- her fear and distrust of humans ran deep and she watched her surroundings with the weary eye of one who had seen pain, and knew the face of it. But Emma had come to her everyday and through the mare’s quiet mistrust, Emma had found a kindred soul to share in her private sorrow. 

For days at a time, she felt as though she were drowning. The overwhelming failure of still being here had her trapped in a hell of her own making. She watched Killian make the best of it, and his gallant effort to do so only succeeded in her feeling worse. The sheer magnitude of what they had lost, _of what Killian had given up already to help her find her family_ sat heavy on her shoulders. 

He had gambled for her, and lost. 

Tears stung her eyes and she pressed the palms of her hands against her face to stave off a rush of anguish. Feeling panic rise up in her chest, Emma let out a pained sigh. 

Saoirse nudged her chest, snorting unhappy to not be getting Emma’s full attention. She apologized in a hushed voice, stroking the mare’s ears carefully, and kept her voice just above a whisper as she spoke, recounting her tale of loneliness. Of being left to fend for herself in a world that had never been hers. Of being lost in the system as a child, a system which was meant to protect her. A tale of never being wanted by anyone. Of running away when things got hard and of building walls too high for anyone to scale- save a determined pirate and a ten year old boy. Tears fell uninhibited down her face as she ran her fingers against the mare’s cheeks and down her throat. 

Saoirse stood still, listening to the desperate woman pour out her heart. She told her quietly of Neal, a man far too old for her, of the quick fumbling of new love in the backseat of a stolen car. Of sitting alone in jail, with no one visiting her. Emma’s voice cracked when she spoke of the feel of the handcuffs against her skin, of the doctor telling her to push and of the newborn cries she wouldn’t allow herself to sooth. She spoke words to the animal she had never said out loud before, all the while, the horse blinked across the stall door at her, large brown eyes impossibly deep in the dim light.

The mare stretched her neck out, bumping Emma on the shoulder and nickering quietly, as if in comfort. Emma rested her face against the warm check, fine hairs tickling across her skin. She whispered to her then the bone deep fear of losing Killian. Of the others who had come before him, no one as important to her as he was. She whispered their names into the neck of the quiet animal. 

Neal. Graham. Even Walsh. Everyone she had ever been with was dead. 

Everyone except for Killian. 

He had teased her one night before the turn of the new year, after she had gotten angry at him for getting hurt at the warehouse. He had told her not to worry about him, that he was good at surviving. That he wasn’t going anywhere- that he would never leave. She washed his wound out again the next morning, the sadistic side of her happy to hear him hiss against the rum she poured directly over the cut. _You don’t need to worry about me, love._ Except she did. The wound had indeed not been bad, and he had recovered enough to whine about it and demand sympathy by the end of the third day. But the small scar which had knitted itself closed on his chest added another drop of fear to her already distressed heart. 

Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke of her parents, of the town she had come from. How she had always felt disconnected from it. She was the Saviour, but ever still the outsider. Like Killian. He had come back for her. He had said that to her, sitting at her kitchen table in New York. There was nothing for him in the Enchanted Forest. He hadn’t belonged anywhere either. Except perhaps here with her. 

Saoirse shifted finally, after Emma’s tears had ceased. The mare’s large head nudged against her once more and she took a small step back, gracing her fingers down the soft leather bridle. 

“The problem is,” Emma said, voice steadier as she stroked the horse’s nose tenderly. “I could be happy here, I just don’t know if I should be.” 

* * *

“Hot spring?” Killian asked. He twisted the heavy tumbler in his grasp, holding it loosely by the top edge as to not warm the liquid with his hand. Emma was baking bread- something she had been surprised to find she enjoyed- with Fiona most of the afternoon, and the two of them had started prepping a batch of sweet rolls for breakfast when he came in, snow covered and smelling of wet sheep, _he hated wool_ , and the mix of laughter coming from the kitchen was too precious for him to interrupt. 

Alec had herded him, still soggy _though no one here seemed to care_ into the study and poured two healthy sloshes of heavily peated whiskey into glasses, handing one out to him with a wry smile. It had been wet and freezing cold, a mixture of snow and howling wind for weeks now, though the dreariness seemed to not dampen the spirits of the locals what-so-ever; Emma figured this land was in such a perpetual state of chilled sogginess that no one thought anything of the weather anymore. 

“Oh, aye,” Alec took a long drag on the pipe hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth. “Folk ‘round here know of it; tis a short journey up the mountain, so we have it most to ourselves, passing folk don’t know about or bother with it.” 

“Where on the mountain?” 

“Fancy a dip, do ya, eh?” his friend laughed with a knowing grin. Killian smiled back, letting the drink warm his belly as he sipped slowly at it. Emma had been grousy, cold and miserable. He had done what he could to appease her, but without the aid of electricity, there was little left to try. A mountain hot spring- which could, as Alec so eloquently phrased it moments earlier, boil your balls dry- might be what they both needed. 

They had been assured that spring would come, and with it warmer days filled with bright sunshine; though with the stretch of one day into the other, the reality of summer seemed far more a fanciful tale than a coming reality. 

Last night he had dreamt of Agrabah. Vividly real; sun shining on the decks of the _Jolly_ , spice markets perfuming the air. Emma was there. With her hair gleaming bright and drifting down her back, silken robes wrapped loose and irresistible around her, sliding cool against her sun warmed skin. He had treasure there, hidden away - he would buy her heart’s desire. He had seen the light glow of heat across her frame, as she had lain naked with him on an expanse of white sheets, gauzed netting hanging around them in a cloud of intimacy. She had rolled towards him then, eyes soft and glassy with pleasure. _I love you,_ she had whispered, _you are my home, Killian._

He had woken up in a state. Eyes snapping open, body rigid. Emma grumbled unhappily from his chest, seeking warmth from him, half laying across his body. He shifted carefully, hushing her protests with a pressed kiss to her crown and slinking away from her tightly curled form; retreated hastily to the small bathing room adjoining their sleeping chamber. His breath hung in the air before him, frost covered the window. 

Leaning heavily on his forearm, Killian had pressed a hand to the chilled glass, rivers of melting frost meandered down the window like tears. They were doing alright, some days she was even almost happy. But the wretched hole left by the sudden loss of Henry and her parents seemed to grow and fester a little more each day. He knew the feeling well, Liam’s death had wrapped around him like a blackened veil for centuries. She had stopped touching the wand. It lay abandoned and useless at the bottom of his chest of drawers. She couldn’t bear to look at and had begged him to toss it away. Her sobbing had wrenched his heart and he had collected her to him, chasing away her demons and fears with his own body as best he could. 

But discarding their only chance to return her to her family- slim as it may be- wasn’t something he was prepared yet to do. So instead he tucked it away, hoping one day he could keep his promise to her. _He would get her home_. 

He knew that she loved him. He could see it in her eyes, but she had been harmed perhaps one too many times, and as their life here soldiered on into a future neither of them had expected, he was starting to lose hope that her shattered heart would ever fully mend. 

“I might,” he took a swig of the whiskey, letting the heat warm his throat on the way down. 

“S’not far, with a horse would take an hour. Take Finley. He’ll get you there and back safe enough. You and your wife,” he added with a wink. 

Unwilling to lie to his friend, Killian had told Alec months ago that he and Emma were not married. Alec had given him a sideways scowl, _why the blasted hell not, lad!_ And shook his head as Killian tried awkwardly to make an excuse. The truth hadn’t stopped the old man from teasing him however, though he never did so in Emma’s presence, and every chance without fail Alec would wink at him and call her his wife. 

It was sometimes like a knife twisting in his gut; the feeling of being left wanting, of wishing for something he knew would never come to pass. 

* * *

“Shift up, Swan.” 

She had been lost in thought; sitting in their large bath in the corner of their room by the window, after having spent what felt like a year filling it with boiling water, and hadn’t heard him come in. He clicked the door shut behind him and began peeling the shirt from his body. 

She scooted forward in the tub, allowing him space to climb in behind her, and watched over her shoulder as the rest of his clothing hit the floor. He came toward her, her silver comb and a bottle of something clutched in his hand. 

He settled quickly, hissing quietly at the heat, and wrapped his left arm around her middle, pulling her to him and growling playfully in her ear. The items in his right hand plunked quietly on the stool beside them and he sighed as she settled back against his chest, reaching to run her fingers down the scratch of his beard. 

They stayed like this for a while, quiet and together before he kissed her temple and asked if she had washed her hair already. She nodded, head lolling against his shoulder, having been melted into a state of utter bliss but the heat. 

“Sit forward, darling,” he kissed her once more and reached to grab the small bottle he had brought with him, pulling the cork out with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor beside them. 

He tipped the bottle onto her blonde mane; wet from the bath and resting on the surface of the hot water like seagrass at the shore. The oil was golden and honey-thick, and he massaged the dollops through the strands gently. She hummed, letting her head fall forward, allowing him better access to work the oil through her hair. The small bottle sat open beside them on the stool, aromas of flora and citrus fresh in her nose. 

The winter had been hard on them both, unused to the toughness of it. And the sight of her cracked, dry hands yesterday had pushed him to find something to remedy the problem. He had found a seller of exotic goods, a small fronted, cluttered shop which made his skin crawl in memory of the Crocodile. But the man had been helpful and had produced the small bottles with an unnecessary flourish. Killian had bought three, and was assured they would last until spring. 

“That smells so good,” she hummed, sighing gently, steam clinging to her back and shoulders as he worked. When the oil was finally shining rich in her hair, Killian picked up the comb from the stool, the silver one he had bought her months ago - the one he used to quietly untangle the knots from her hair, as she sat before him like she did now, soft and safe and _his_. He started gently at ends, working his way up to her crown as he coaxed the strands free. 

“It’s from a place far from here,” he whispered, still rhythmically running the comb through her oiled hair; a river of gold shimmering out before him. “A land called China.” 

“China?” her head rose up, voice sharp with recognition. 

“Have you heard of it, then?” he gently set the comb back down on the stool, wrapping her once again in his arms to bring her against him. 

“There’s a place called China, where I’m from, but I suppose this one is different. Mulan- she was with us-” 

“Aye, I remember, love. She helped you tie me to that bloody tree.” That elected a soft giggle from her and he felt her relax once again. 

“She did, didn’t she,” Emma sighed, sitting back against his chest.

The house had quieted below them as they listened in silence to Fiona’s humming as she finished the washing with Alec’s voice a low thrum in the background, coming through the floorboards as he locked the house up for the night. The soft crackling of the fire was calming and Killian closed his eyes, settling back against the warm metal of the high back tub. The basin was no small blessing, and he was thankful for it, especially since they had determined, on their second night at the farm all those months ago, that it did indeed fit the two of them quite nicely. 

He had almost drifted off, mind quiet and content. The sloshing of the water against the side was familiar and soothing as Emma shifted against him, playing with the small rivers of water that trickled down her arms. It reminded him of the sea at night, lapping against the belly of the _Jolly_. How many hours had he listened to that sound? For over a century, it had been the only thing in his life which could calm him. But now, here with Emma, he had found something far more real and solid. 

She pulled his hand out of the water, movement slow and almost sleepy. Her water-warmed fingers toyed with the large silver ring on his thumb. It was the only one he had not removed since retiring to their rooms an hour prior and he felt suddenly more naked without the other two on his hand. Emma twisted the piece of jewelry around the digit before looking over her shoulder at him, permission swimming in her large emerald green eyes. 

He could never have denied her anything and he nodded slightly, watching her attention return to his hand, twisting the ring carefully between her fingers. She didn’t ask, but she didn’t need to; the unspoken question hung around them as the steam curled and danced in the light of the fire. 

“It’s a reminder, Swan. Nothing more,” he answered her questioning gaze with a small smile. 

“A reminder of what?” her voice was so low it was nearly lost in the stillness of the room. 

They were not pretty stories and Killian swallowed against the truth of them. Shame surged strong and forceful against his heart. They had been trophies; daily reminders to all those who met him of the death and destruction he could rage down on them if he so chose. “Of a life I would soon forget,” he said simply, placing a lingering kiss on her shoulder. 

Emma nodded, gently replacing the large ring onto his thumb, fingers folding into his once it was seated. She understood that pain well, she had worn a token of betrayal, of heartbreak and loss around her neck for years. She would have it still, in her room back in Storybrooke, tucked amongst her things. She hadn’t worn it since Neal had died in her arms. The scars of the pain still lingered, but she had wanted to let some of that past go. “I get that.” 

He was silent, as she knew he would be, giving her time and space to reveal more of herself. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, which arrived whenever she thought of that envelope. She could still hear the clanking of the heavy door to her cell, feel the weight of the already opened package in her hand. She recalled the tightening of her fingers around the pregnancy test. Taste the word of congratulations bitter on her tongue, _congratulations for what?_ The keys to the Bug had felt like a lead weight dragging her down. 

“I went to Tallahassee,” she whispered, fingers still entwined with his. “Neal,” she took another breath; she had never told this story to anyone and the task of dragging it to the surface of her soul was taxing. “We were supposed to go there,” she started again, her thoughts a jumbled mess. “Before everything went to hell, before the watches, before jail, before,” his arms tightened around her, his cheek rough against her own, “before Henry.” 

The rest came pouring out of her. She wasn’t a storyteller, hadn’t planned on sharing this part of herself, but once she started the words could not be held back. He said nothing, the pressing of him against her enough to keep her steady and safe. She told him about the watches, how Neal had never met her. How he had called it in and they had locked her away. How he had ran, leaving her to take the fall for him. How she had sat as Henry grew inside of her, knowing she could not keep him. How she had been tied to the gurney, denied pain medication, scared and alone. The doctor’s voice, _do you want to hold him?_ Sharp in her mind, the memory was still raw around the edges. She had started to cry at some point, and the words came out ragged and broken. 

“They told me I could change my mind,” she shuttered, shivering despite the heat of the water and the closeness of his body. “But I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t keep him. I couldn’t be a mother.” 

He had shushed her then, speaking comfort into her hair. And after a time she calmed enough to take a deep breath. 

“I kept the keychain. That stupid swan token; a reminder to never trust anyone ever again,” she explained bitterly, gripping onto his wrist tightly as if he too might be taken from her. “He took so much from me.” He dragged his lips across her temple, a silent promise to never leave. “And I hated him for it.” 

Killian held her as nails dug sharply into his forearm, remembering the young boy who had been so angry and alone. The young boy he had both saved and condemned in that cursed place. The boy with Henry’s eyes, who had grown up and left this remarkable woman so incredibly broken and betrayed. _Had he had a hand in that?_ he wondered as Emma’s voice surrounded him; exhausted but determined in the light of the fire. Her words were broken only by the sound of the water as she shifted, scooping handfuls of water across her chest and shoulders to keep warm. 

Emma spoke of Neverland. Of having to find Neal only to wish that she hadn’t. How it would have been easier if he had been gone. She confessed to hating him, hating that he never believed in her. Hating that he wanted to know Henry after everything he had done to the both of them and feeling selfish that she felt that way. She had been angry at her parents, frustrated that they had always taken his side. Annoyed that they couldn’t see beyond their own experience to notice the pain and heartbreak he had left her with. 

“He did a few things right though,” she said finally, as the water had started to cool around them, her fingers playing with the charms around his neck. “He sent you to find me. He knew you would find a way.”

* * *

“But it’s cold,” she had whined as he pulled gently on her hand, reluctant to leave the warm nest she had created for herself by the fire while he had saddled Finley; the reliable brown gelding from Alec’s small stable was a pleasant tempered animal who knew the terrain better than most. He had simply raised a brow at her and pulled her warm grey cloak from the small wardrobe.

She had grumbled as she dressed, tugging socks over her feet, growling as they caught on her woolen stockings. 

“This had better be worth it, Jones,” she hissed as she trudged in front of him down the stairs. 

“Swan, stop arguing with me and get on the damn horse.”

She opened her mouth again to say something when he cut her off. “All you have to do is trust me,” his face was so open, so hopeful. She stepped forward, running a hand down the shoulder of the chestnut horse and reached for his outstretched hand. 

Once she was settled behind him, they were off. 

The smell of sulphur wafted down the trail and Finley snorted. They had ridden in comfortable silence for a long while, Killian clicking his tongue at the horse in a strange sort of equestrian morse code. Emma had rested her check on Killian's back, warm against the sun in spite of the chilled air and the rocking of Finley's surefooted steps along the narrow trail had lulled her into a dreamlike trance. 

Killian shifted against her, reaching down to pat the gelding affectionately before wrapping a large hand around hers. 

“We’re here, Swan.” She sat up further and looked around at the small grotto carved into the rocks in front of them. The water was steaming and the colour of Neverland’s lagoon. She slipped down from behind him, pleased to find the rock walls surrounding them buffered the wind and, though the air was still cool, it wasn’t unpleasant. Killian had unstrapped a saddle bag and pulled several bundles of firewood off of the gelding’s back, making a large fire quickly beside the pool of rising steam. Emma reached down, careful to avoid the snow covered edge, hesitant across the steaming surface of the water; brilliant green in the fading light of the sun. The heat caressed her fingertips; enticing and promising a warmth which had eluded her for months. 

Once Finley was taken care of, happily munching on a small bag of oats, Killian joined her and started to pull his clothes quickly away. She raised an eyebrow at him as he stripped efficiently in front of her, smirking. 

“You're not joining me, Swan?” he asked before crouching to slip into the hot water. He resurfaced a moment later as Emma was slowly untying her cloak, gasping and sputtering about how Alec had been right about the heat. She tucked her clothes next to his, on top of the leather satchel he had brought and slipped in beside him, skin flushing instantly with the heat. The pool was not overly large, it carved long through the small valley between the rock faces and was shallow enough on one end to lounge while still fully submerged. 

The mountain was steeped in local myth and Killian had recited several tales to her, breath whispering across her skin, the coolness of it refreshing against the heat of the water beneath her. 

“Talking bears? You can’t be serious,” she sputtered as he pulled her along with him through the heated pool. The cliffs rose tall and serene above them, the sounds of the world soft and muffled through the snow covered rock. 

“You were engaged to a flying monkey, Swan. What’s so odd about talking bears?” 

“I wasn’t technically engaged to him because I never actually said yes,” there was a warning in her voice which he would have been a fool to miss. 

They were headed into dangerous territory here, and the captain’s blood that still sang through his veins knew of which shoals to steer clear. So instead of answering he ran a hand across her ribs, dragging his nails lightly against her skin, alighting her towards him with a hitch in her breath. 

“Legend says,” he leaned closer to her, water swirling around them as he shifted, “this mountain is guarded by a witch; a sorceress who bends the animals to her will,” the loose veil of her hair floated like magic on the surface of the water; steam rose around them and her eyes were impossibly green in the light on the pool. “And can use them to deliver messages,” his voice lowered as he spoke, as if relaying a great secret. She pulled him to her, arms wrapping around his shoulders, melting slightly into his voice. Her hands settled across the ribbon-thin lines, _I wasn’t always as charming as I am now, Swan. Pay them no mind,_ which lay heavily across the top of his back. They thinned out as she stroked down his ribs, pressing her palms reverently against his marred skin, slick and warm from the spring under her hands. 

He pressed her against the rocky edge, careful not to hurt her on the rough stone as his hand found her waist, anchoring her to him. Emma’s hands tangled in his hair, and she gasped a breath as the scarred skin on his wrist pressed against her core, dragging down against her folds with skilled finesse. His voice rumbled into her ear; hot and sinful, full of promises. 

“One day, darling,” he all but snarled into the sensitive skin on her neck, desire swirling hot and snapping inside of him. She had started mewing, breathy little sounds which puffed against his shoulder as her head had lolled onto him. His name was on her lips, and she cried out as he twisted his scarred flesh against her once more. “You’ll come on my hook,” she cried out again grinding herself down onto him. “Would you like that, my beautiful Swan?” she nodded heavily as a moan rang against the shell of his ear and her legs had started to tremble as they wrapped around him, holding him tightly. 

“Let go, Emma. I have you,” he bit softly down on the junction of her neck and shoulder, soothing the small pain with a swipe of his tongue. She tasted like sweat, and heat, and _Emma_ and he needed her to fall so that he could join her. She cried out, keening as she curled into him, seeking the anchor of his body against the cresting of the waves inside her. He murmured into her neck all manner of things; promises of what he would do to her and how he would make her feel. Praise for how perfect she was, how right she felt in his arms. She merely nodded, body heavy and sluggish as she came back to herself. 

He moved to push her away from the edge, needing more purchase in his footing to take her the way he planned, but she cried out wordlessly and mewled into his neck. _Please don't leave._ He wrapped his hand more fully around her back and pulled her to him, bringing them both back slowly to the shallow end of the spring. Her hair clung hotly to her face and she captured his mouth once more with hers, nipping against the seam of his lips before pushing her tongue boldly against his. 

The bottom of the pool was smooth and solid under his feet and he hoisted her higher in his arms. A narrow ledge rose up under him and he lowered her down carefully, hand trailing a warm path down her hip as he pushed her knees apart to settle between them. 

It was as if they had found the heart of the world. Here, together in this place, with the heat of the earth rising around them, cradled in each other’s arms. And then he moved inside of her, his name on her breath, slowly at first. Her hands cradled his face and she sighed into the steadiness of his movements, meeting him with the rise of her hips. 

He had promised her- late one night as she huddled against him in their bed, the sound of the night quiet outside their window- to keep her warm and safe and whole. She had cuddled closer, pressing the bottoms of her feet against his warm legs while tucking her face into his chest. He had promised her, his voice the deep roll of a coming storm, to make her feel more alive inside than she ever had before. He had promised to be her home, to keep her safe and always stand behind her, guarding her. She had sighed against him, words heady between them. 

And here they were, now in this womb of earth and water; he moved slowly inside of her, his breath tangled with hers. The heat of the water glowing against her skin, she whispered to him that he had been right. She felt safe and free with him. He indeed made her feel more alive than she ever had before. His pace faltered at her words; blue eyes sought green as he came together with her, a cry mingled between them. 

Words she was afraid to utter kept bubbling close to the surface. But she had shut them down, not wishing to have them attributed to the passion and heat of the last hour. She allowed him to bundle her into the towels he had packed and press small kisses into her hair as they watched the stars awaken above them in the winter sky. Finley had been saddled again after the fire had been put out and they made their way back to the farm. Something had settled between them; for the first time in nearly six month, Emma was warm. 

* * *

The snow had stopped sometime during the night; blanketing the world outside with a fresh white frost. The days had been getting steadily longer and the sun had started to warm the winter from the world. Emma rolled over, tucking herself neatly into Killian’s side, head resting lightly on his shoulder. He smiled in his sleep, face turning into her hair by instinct. 

She kissed his chest above his heart and watched the sun break through the canopy of trees outside the window. _Today_ ; it felt like it was today. She pulled away, quickly slipping out of the warm comfort towards the wardrobe, grabbing a cotton wrapped package and sliding back in next to him. He was awake now, watching her silently. She tucked the quilt back around her naked shoulders and placed the small parcel on his chest. 

“Just what are you up to, Swan?” he smiled sleepily at her as he took hold of the gift. He sat up then, rolling towards her and frowning slightly as he examined it. “For me?” he asked, turning the item over carefully in his hands. She nodded snuggling closer, her heart rate ticking a beat faster. 

“Yes. Merry Christmas, Killian,” she whispered, lingering a kiss on his arm. 

“Christmas?” he repeated, brows pulled together, unraveling the length of twine securing it shut. 

She hummed an affirmative sound before ducking her head and leaning into his shoulder. 

“I never really celebrated Christmas before Henry and I,” she swallowed, and stopped for a moment before squaring her shoulders and pressing on. Killian held his breath, she hadn’t spoken of Henry or her parents in nearly two months, having made herself insufferably ill over their loss even the mention of them would send her into a deep spiral of pain and longing. “Before Henry and I lived in New York for that year,” she finished in a hushed voice. 

“But you wanted to? Celebrate it, I mean,” he sank down towards her and caressed his scarred wrist down her cheek. She nodded softy, a tear sliding slowly down her face; he caught it, heart seizing tightly. 

“I did. I guess I probably had a Christmas or two with my first family, but after that…” she trailed off, trying to shrug away the pain she had carried with her all of her life. 

Killian stopped tracing the softly rounded edges of the parcel, setting the small gift aside for the time being, and looked at her, confusion and concern clouding his eyes. “First family? What do you mean, love?” 

Her lungs felt as if they were about to explode. She had wanted to share this with him, to open up a bit more and let the last of her walls come down. He deserved that, and so did she. They were here now, together, and he deserved to know her, _really know her._

Her voice came out a harsh whisper, the threat of tears hovering just below the surface. “I had a family until I was three, but then,” she swallowed and he wrapped his arms around her, hauling her bodily across his chest, her face tucked under his neck, fingers wrapping tightly onto the charms that hung there. “But they had their own kid and they said I was too much work,” she was crying openly now, sobs racking her body as he held tight, the old wound ripped open and exposed after so many years. “So they gave me back,” she finished in a harsh whisper as she collapsed against him fully, body exhausted from surviving the last several months filled with disappointment, helplessness and grief. 

He simply held her, mind racing. How could they have done that to her? Thrown her away like she meant nothing? He was angry, heart tightening in his chest as he wrapped her tightly to him, pressing deep kissing onto her hair. _She had never been nothing, she was everything._

“All my life, everyone has _always let me down,_ ” she choked out, voice watery and uneven through her tears. She gripped his arm, hands tight on his biceps as if afraid he too would disappear. 

“Emma,” he held her out from his chest slightly, hand firmly on her shoulder; meeting her eyes. “I don't intend on _ever_ letting you down.” 

“I love you, Killian,” she whispered, heart laid bare. He crushed her to him, turning so she landed on her back under his body. There were tears still in her eyes, and her face was red but she was beautiful _and she loved him_. 

“It’s only ever been you, Emma,” he breathed, hovering above her. 

Sometime later, after her tears dried and they were comfortable once again, she pushed herself off the bed to reach over him, grabbing the still wrapped gift off the table. “Here,” she pushed it into his hand, “open it.” 

He watched her for a moment, looking for any hint of still-lingering distress from earlier, but her eyes were clear and excited and she sank down onto her elbow, softly dragging her fingernails across his chest. “Christmas, Swan?” 

“Yes. It’s a tradition where I’m from. It’s when you spend time with your family and friends, and exchange small gifts with each other. It’s nice,” she shrugged, not really knowing how to explain something she had never truly experienced. 

“Sounds lovely. And that’s today, then?” _He had nothing for her._

“I don’t know, probably not. Christmas is always on December 25th. And it’s almost spring here now,” the feel of his chest hair rough against the tips of her fingers. “But I wanted you to have this, and I wanted to celebrate Christmas with you.” 

“Well then, I’m honoured. But you have me at a disadvantage. I have nothing to give you, my love.” 

“You mean besides actually having given up your life for me?” she asked, leveling him with a stare. 

“I would hardly consider me having given up anything for this life with you, Emma,” he whispered, “I have never wanted _anything_ more that I want you.” 

“You’re going to make me cry again, open your damn present.” 

He conceded, fingers making quick work of the wrapping. It was round, and brass, and of solid weight, and when he turned it over, his heart skipped in his chest. 

“It made me think of us,” she whispered as her eyes softened and grew ever larger. “It’s where we started.” 

The sea had been his only respite for centuries, the turning roll of the ocean waves and the bite of the salt stray on his face. It was all he had known. But now, wrapped in the embrace of this remarkable woman, he was finally home. 

“I love you, Emma.” 


	8. A New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!!!! 
> 
> oxo

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

“Wicked woman.” 

Emma swallowed a mouthful of hot tea, listening to Fiona’s friends chatter around her in the warmth of the kitchen. The women were from neighbouring farms and had welcomed her into their little community with ease. She would certainly miss this, being surrounded by so much company. She had grown accustomed to the bustle of life on the farmstead, the familiarity of Fiona in the kitchen, the smell of bread wafting through the house. She had come to anticipate Alec’s growling over the cat in the morning, as she carried the small feline down the stairs with her for breakfast. 

But spring was firmly upon them now and the coziness of winter had given way quickly to the need for their own space, the desire to find a small corner of this world to call their own, if only for a short time. They had both made a tentative kind of peace with their situation, and Emma had been trying to keep to her fathers advice from what felt like a lifetime ago; _enjoy the moments_. She had found herself settling into the feeling of being happy; bit by bit, it had started to feel like home.

She had come through the kitchen door in the middle of a heated discussion, silently placing a refreshed platter of dried fruits and small cookies on the table before taking her seat again next to Fee, entertained by the clatter of voices. 

“Aye, an evil witch to be sure. Poor lass, losing ‘er home and her kingdom like ‘at, s’a tragedy.” 

“And that pig of a king, he’ll get what’s coming to him! Wretched man.” 

The stout, brown haired woman nodded, hair bouncing in self righteous approval, and passed the thick sheet of paper across the table to Fiona. It passed under Emma’s gaze and her eyes caught the scroll of a name in the centre column. She reached out, fingers tracing the letters reverently, Fiona’s hand covering the rest of the headline. Fee glanced at her, her eyes both sharply assessing and softly understanding- a combination Emma had come to appreciate over their time together. Where Alec was loud and bullheaded at times, Fiona was an ever present quiet observer. 

The chatter at the table continued around her, her hands holding the sheet of heavy parchment tightly between trembling fingers. It was worn from travel and had ripped a fraction on the corner, but she smoothed the torn halves together and read her mother’s name. 

The rest of the afternoon had passed slowly around her, the chatter of the ladies fading into the background as she stared at the flat sheet describing the war against the Evil Queen and King George. Information had been scarce thus far. Regina’s reputation, however, was well known even here and sympathy for Snow White had been growing in volume since the first signs of spring. Emma had kept the tattered paper in her hand, rolled up and warm under her heated skin, until she handed it to Killian, alone in their room after dinner. 

“I was born in the fall,” she whispered, seated on the floor beside the crackling fire in their small living room as she placed a curl of green ribbon on the floor beside the empty glass vile. _You didn’t tell me we missed your birthday, Swan_ , he had whispered catching her eyes as he sat next to her. _We had other things to worry about, the date of my birth was certainly not one of them_. He had frowned then, leaning across her to place a Knight next to the ribbon. “What’s that for?” she asked, nodding to the white ivory chess piece near her foot. 

“That’s you, Swan.” She had twisted to look at him then, the feel of his breath warm and comforting on her cheek. _A Knight?_ She had asked as he had picked up her hand, placing a revenant kiss on her knuckles before meeting her eyes again, dark blue and solemn. _A Saviour._

They had begun this strange project hours earlier while stretched out by the fire, passing his flask between them. In need of supplies from the office downstairs she had taught him Rock Paper Scissors as a childish means of determining who should go get them, but she had lost to him thrice over and his smug grin was enough for her to throw his set of dice at his chest in annoyance. He had laughed and dragged her to his side, heating her skin with open mouth kisses intermingled with the delicious nipping pain of teeth. His solution had been a visual timeline of random objects, _keeping a written list of future events might be dangerous, love_ , and she had placed the flat sheet in the centre. It sat there still, the tattered parchment proof of the timeline continuing as it was meant to in sprite of their recent intervention. 

She had kissed him then, blood quickening in her veins as her hands made quick work of the small buttons on his shirt and he tugged her robe from her shoulders. The heat from the fire washed warmly over them as he lay her gently down, moving over her, mouth warm against her bare skin. She had breathed his name against his neck, pressing her hips up to meet him as they made love in the casting glow of the flames. 

“You’re not here,” she muttered against his chest, both slightly breathless as they lay together, sweat a light sheen on their skin. A low questioning hum was his only answer and she lifted her head enough to point at the line of random items littering the floor beside them. “On our time map, you’re not on here.” 

He shifted and groaned underneath her before setting more comfortably, blunted wrist under his head while his fingers toyed with the ends of her hair. “I’m not important, Swan.” 

She uttered a low sound, a mix between a growl and a scoff before rolling her eyes and tilting across his chest to reach into the pile of chess pieces she had dumped on the floor in their rummage for small objects earlier, fingers tracing the notches carved into the ebony. She pulled it from the pile, showing him the object she had selected and placing it down beside the small carved horse head. “There,” she breathed, smiling the small smile that had always been his, “now you are.” 

“A Rook?” he asked, lips twitching in a shy smile as his fingers dove deeply into her tresses. She knew nothing of chess, but the feel of the black glossy castle turret between her fingers was solid and reassuring. 

“A fortress,” she shrugged, a slight blush suffusing her skin from the heat of the fire. “My home.” 

Warm fingers trailed down her neck, tracing the indentation of her spine. She closed her eyes, head resting once again against his beating heart, _I love you, Emma._

* * *

“Do you think they’re getting close?” Emma asked, the wild flowers he had picked her held loose in her hand and she glanced back at the large horse grazing several paces behind them, unhurried in her discovery of fresh green shoots. The spring had warmed considerably over the last month and with the warmer weather, the hills had become alive with the bright pastel colours of sunshine and rain. 

Killian kicked at a stone with the toe of his boot, before swooping down to pluck a soft pink flower from beside the half beaten trail. He handed it to her with a smile and nodded, eyes narrowed against the sunshine beating down on them. 

“That notice,” he said quietly, a force of habit when they were speaking of future events- fear of being overheard high on their radar, _do they burn witches here?_ “Was a month or so old,” he reached out to take the worn leather lead line from her other hand, and hung it over his shoulders. They had started walking together the long winding sideroads as soon as the snow had gone in order to get out on their own for a short time. “Now that Regina’s threatened, I expect to hear more by the way of news. And from your father’s kingdom as well.” 

Emma whistled low and clicked her tongue a couple of times until the low thump of heavy hooves came up behind them. She had cultivated, quite unexpectedly, a harmonious relationship with the mare, Saoirse, much to Alec’s amusement. Killian had willed himself to stay put as her large head pressed in between them and her deep chocolate eyes almost narrowed at him in annoyance. He had been spending more of his days at the warehouse, the walks he and Emma had so enjoyed had morphed into adventures Emma had undertaken with the mare. The two of them made quiet the pair as they contented themselves, wandering slowly down the road away from the farm, the leather lead bundled loosely in Emma’s hand as she allowed the animal her freedom.

Emma hummed and reached up with her now free fingers to graze her palm gently down Saorise’s nose. The horse was a huge beast of an animal, nearly 18 hands high with a chestnut coat and yellow gold mane. Emma had laughed lightly as she brushed the mare one evening in the winter, teasing how blondes needed to stick together. She had been a draft horse in an earlier life, and he suspected Emma’s theory of abuse and neglect to be sadly close to the truth. The mare was a lovely creature but she had love for only Emma.

“I know their wedding is in the summer,” Emma sighed. “And they were married for a while before having me.” 

“So, the curse will be cast next year then,” his voice was low, contemplative. They still couldn’t risk going back to the Enchanted Forest. They were safer here, with the bloody crocodile lurking around and Regina getting ready to sweep everyone into a miserable existence in the Land Without Magic. 

They had been waiting for news from Misthaven for months, the last they had heard was of the Midas wedding cancelation, and in the wake of that, the rage of King George. The flat sheet had at least depicted her parents together; though she knew they had a long war to fight before it was over. Emma knew it was ridiculous, worrying over timelines when they weren’t planning on doing anything with the information, but she had admitted one day, walking down a small laneway, her fingers entwined with his and still cool despite the sun’s warmth, that it made her feel part of things again. 

“They’ll be close, then?” she asked, turning once more to keep an eye on the horse plodding along slowly behind them once more. Killian had a sharp vision of Emma as a mother. He could see clear as day the image of a little girl playing in the grass as her watchful mother kept a close eye out for trouble. A child with sun-blonde hair and a mischievous smile. Emma was a fierce and protective mother, he had known that from the moment he had set foot on that beanstalk. Determined and tenacious, she had stopped at nothing to get home to Henry. His heart had lurched on the beach that day beside the lake, the fate of one more lost boy hanging in the balance. She couldn’t beat him, but maybe she didn’t need to. And so he had fallen, taken the risk and it had paid off; for himself and for her boy. He shook his head sharply to clear the little girl’s face from his vision, but not before committing to memory how much her bright blue eyes looked like his own. 

“Aye, Swan, I believe they are.” 

* * *

Springtime was a bustling affair at the farmstead; the planting season was swiftly upon them and it seemed the land had come alive all at once with activity. People scurrying here and there and the kitchen was a revolving mess of high activity. Alec had employed several neighboring young men to come and assist with the sewing and they had been at the farm from dawn till dusk for the last week.

Killian had felt the strain of it for a while and as much as they both enjoyed the company of Alec and Fiona, time seemed to press against them and as the days grew warmer, he had found himself restless and wishing for a space of their own. 

He hadn’t known how to broach the subject however until the night Alec had ‘the lads’ over for a boisterous party to celebrate the last row of seeds planted in the far field. The celebration had carried on into the small hours of the morning as she lay, irritable and cramping, curled on her side in a tight ball. 

“We really need our own place,” she had hissed as he rubbed a soothing hand across her lower back, stilling for a moment in surprise before continuing cautiously, the novel he had brought from the study forgotten across his chest. 

“Oh?” his skin flushed on high alert. This was not something he was expecting from her. 

Emma had broken down one night, months ago during the cold unforgiving misery of winter, crying and begging Killian to get rid of the damaged wand. To burn it. To throw it away. Anything as long as she never had to look at that reminder of everything they had had to give up ever again. She never brought it up after that and neither did he. He had held her, his nose pressed into her hair as he whispered to her that he would never leave, that they were safe and he would get her home to her family; that he would never stop until he did. She shook her head, holding him tighter and muffling her sobs against his chest.

“Maybe not forever, but for now, you know? Somewhere that’s really ours?” A crash from below them started her, making her jump suddenly before snarling towards the closed door. “Somewhere with no downstairs neighbors.” 

“Are you still annoyed that Alec ate the last of the sweet rolls?” 

“That does factor into this decision, yes,” she said wryly as she cracked a smile at him. 

Alec had managed to arrange a permanent position for Killian at the small port village of Stornoway, managing a warehouse and the merchant dock. It was reportedly a quiet trading town and as Alec shared the news over lamb stew one evening Killian’s face had betrayed a shadowed hint of trepidation which was missed by everyone except for Emma. She had asked him that evening once they were alone, curled against him in the sanctuary of their bed. The fire had been smoldered and the burned down taper had been placed in its usual place by the stone ledged window, _fire safety, Killian, it’s no joke,_ their voices low in the darkness while Salem had curled against her feet. 

He had shifted, uncomfortable with her question and she had lowered her eyes, hand resting solidly on his chest. She said nothing, allowing him the space he needed to work through the turmoil she could feel rushing through him. His heart had pounded under her hand and the twitch at the corner of his jaw had pulsed erratically until she had leaned up and placed a soft kiss there. 

“Killian,” her voice hung between them as if suspended in the air by magic. “Tell me, what’s troubling you.” Her fingers curled softly against his skin, the fine hairs on his chest scratching lightly under her nails. “Let me help, please,” she added quietly, tucking her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of grass and leather. 

He had cleared his throat, a jarring sound like boat dragged over a graveled beach.

“There are many things I haven’t told you, Emma.” 

The use of her name made her sit up against him, his eyes impossibly dark and hooded in the dim light. “I have done,” he paused, swallowing thickly and looked away from her. His face was a mask of pain and desolation, akin to how it had looked in the shadowed emptiness of the echo caves. The look on his face that day haunted her even now, the desperate longing and the firm belief that she would never feel the same. Emma kissed his chest again, a small gesture of comfort to belly the tightening of her arms around him. “I have done many things, Emma, in my quest for revenge.” 

She didn’t move, opting to stay tucked against his chest, fingers continuing their random swirling across his torso. She feared if she moved, he would allow himself to be swallowed further into the pit of yawning guilt that she could feel under her hands, his body tense and ready to flee her scrutiny if she so wished it. 

“Before Regina cast her Dark Curse, she sought my services in exchange for a way to finally rid this world of the Dark One. I was to do an errand for her.”

Emma’s heart picked up, thudding quickly now in her chest in response to his foreboding tone. His hand had stilled, fingers still entwined loosely in her hair; an anchor against the coming onslaught of emotion he had kept at bay for so long. 

“But first,” his fingers twitched against her scalp with a desperate need to hold her when he didn’t feel worthy of it. She kissed his chest again and risked a glance up at his face. His eyes were closed and the tightness of his jaw pulled at her heart. 

“She presented me with a test; a chance to see for herself what kind of man I really was,” he snarled at the memory. Emma exhaled in an attempt to calm her racing heartbeat. Bile twisted in her gut, and she tucked her head back against the warm solidness of him. 

“She had found my father.” Emma startled; Regina leading him to the bastard of a man who had abandoned his children at sea in the middle of the night for his own benefit was certainly not what she had expected. 

“He didn’t recognize me, of course- why would he, really?” His voice grew softer, the memory of that dreadful night tugging at his mind. He could smell the scent of the ale, hear the murmur of low voices and the clack of dice on a table. “I took a seat near the back, and waited. I had waited for him as a boy,” eyes burning now behind his tightly closed lids. “Huddled with Liam in our small bunk, freezing cold with terror. I waited for him to come back for us. But of course,” his mouth twisted into a cruel grimace, “he never did.” 

He was silent for a while, fingers once again still on the back of her head. She thought he may have fallen asleep and shifted against him in an attempt to bring the quilt higher across them both. 

“I killed him.” 

His voice was so low she almost had not heard it. The world stopped for a moment, silent and adjusting on its axis as his words settled down into her soul. Her heart constricted for him, for the small boys who had been left behind. 

“He thought me no more than a pirate,” he laughed shortly without humour. “And I suppose in that assessment he was right.” 

“No, Killian,” she stopped him, unable to bear the pain that was seeping from him, the way his body was rigid with shame. “He wasn’t,” she punctuated the words with a firm kiss pressed against his chest. Goose flesh prickled across his arms and he pulled her closer, laying her across his chest. 

“We spoke for a time. He asked after Liam. And in the end, I was able to procure a permit of passage for him and his son. It would have fooled Regina into thinking he was dead, and saved them both from the curse.” his voice had sunk to a rolling whisper, the edge of a mounting storm on the waves of his words.

“I came to deliver the permit the next evening, watching through the window as he tucked a small boy into bed,” his jaw unclenched for a moment and he pulled a lungful of air into his lungs before grimacing against the unearthed pain which had been buried under layers of anger and betrayal. His face was raw and open as he was once again, if only for the faintest of moments, that abandoned young boy again. The boy who had been left adrift and alone to make his way in the world against all of the odds stacked against him. Who had fought and clawed his way through 200 years of purgatory to sit, self loathing washing from him, tense and guarded beside her. 

Emma’s hold on him tightened, a desperate attempt to keep him with her, to hold him against the grief of his past. 

“He named the boy Liam,” he voice broke and she buried her face in his neck, wrapping a hand up the side of his throat, thumb stroking the edge of his jaw. 

“Oh, Killian,” she pressed lips against his pulse, tears stinging her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, anger burning hot through her veins. Her mind raced, desperate to find a way to reach through the cloud of emotion that was threatening to drown him as he sat rigid and trembling in her arms. “I love you.” 

“Do you have any idea what I have done?” he hissed, eyes full of pain. She had never seen him quite this raw before; Killian hid his pain well- even from her. Sweat had broken out against his skin and the light sheen of it glistened, as if vibrating against his flesh. 

“I don’t care,” her voice was steady, strong and low. She didn’t care, nothing else mattered to her except what they were here. Now. Together. 

“You should care, Swan.” He stood abruptly, naked and beautiful in the light of the moon. The crisp spring sky had been a welcome visitor since the departure of winter and they had started to leave the curtains open at night; stars spectacular in the dark sky. 

“I love you, Killian,” she repeated firmly as he flinched at her words and stormed over to the low dresser, the moon shining off the metal of his hook, which he had discarded an hour earlier as she had massaged his scared wrist in her hands. He had kissed her, long and slow, exhaling across her cheek as she pressed firmly against the seam of the deepest ridge of marred tissue; just as she knew he liked. 

His hand came to the tip of the hook, pressing his thumb sharply onto the point, face shrouded in darkness as he turned his face towards her. She sat up slowly, allowing the quilt to pool at her waist, watching him with a soft smile on her face. He would never hurt her, _but he would torture himself for her,_ and she would not permit that. 

He grasped the brace solidly in his palm, hook still attached and glimmering in the moonlight like the calm of the sea at night. 

“I ran him through, Emma. Left him for dead on his own doorstep while his son slept inside. Another orphaned boy.” His voice was ragged and eyes squinted against the pain of the old memory, much too fresh still in his heart. “But that’s not the worst I have done,” he continued, taking a measured step towards her and rebuckling the heavy brace on his forearm, cinching the straps further than they usually sat, the leather harsh against his skin. Her heart rate ticked up, a direct response to the warning in his voice, but she relaxed, trusting him. 

He needed this. This catharsis of release. The tempered pain, hardened and thick from years of repression, anger and rage. 

“I am a monster! Look at me,” he seethed through clenched teeth, taking one more step towards her, knees almost touching the edge of the bed, hook raised as if to prove his point.

“I am,” her voice was steady as she held his gaze. 

“I have killed many, Emma. I have raged destruction and torn through families. Leveled villages and left good people to die in the fire of my wrath. I am _not_ a good man.” 

“You’re mine.” 

His eyes held hers as he brought the chilled metal appendage to her collarbone, trailing it up slowly, the curve smooth and cool against the heat of her skin. Tension pooled low in her belly and her breath hitched as the hook grazed carefully up the column of her throat. He stopped its path as the curve rested against her chin, tilting her face back higher to expose her more fully. She closed her eyes, sighing into the intensity of the moment. He had never touched her like this. 

_Except in her dreams._

She had often dreamt of Neverland. Of the heat and the jungle and the rush of ever present danger. When she had been with Henry in New York for that missing year, she had dreamt of him; darkly dressed and dangerous. A foreboding presence looming out of the darkness, she had felt safe with him for as dangerous and menacing as he was, he was not a threat to her, _never to her_. Half focused images floating across her mind, but it was always the same, she would remember the taste of him, from one dream to the next, remember how he had caressed her skin with the cool solidness of his hook. She would wake suddenly then with a start, sweat covered with her thighs rubbing hard together, wet with want and utterly confused. 

She had dreamt too of a ship, of the feel of the waves rocking underneath of her feet, of the sea spray wind whipping her face across her face. And still the dark figure was there, a sentry against the loneliness which seemed to seep into her heart at night. 

But this was real and the flinted blackness in his eyes held so many emotions she felt slightly faint with anticipation. 

“This hook,” he whispered, turning the metal appendage to rest against her throat, the pointed tip grazing her skin caused a chill to ripple down her spine, “has tasted its share of pain, Emma.” 

“I don’t care about that,” her voice was breathy and she felt as though her skin was on fire. Her nipples tightened as she pressed her knees together in an attempt to alleviate the need pooling between her legs. 

She knew him perhaps better than he knew himself, and quiet gentle comfort was not what he sought. He didn’t need absolution. He didn’t need her forgiveness- for there was nothing for her to forgive. He already had her love, her trust and her acceptance. 

He made a sound like a feral beast at the back of his throat and pushed closer to her, metal pressing further into her skin, nearly to the point of pain. It was deliciously dark and sensual and she reached out to take him, hard and hot, in her hand. 

His hips thrust towards her as his hand tangled quickly through her hair, ringed fingers tightening between her golden strands. His face was dark, eyes lidded, the curve of his hook moving from her throat to her cheek, tracing the swell of her smile. “What do you care about, Swan?” he asked, voice rough like the rattle of cart wheels down a gravel road. 

“You,” she replied simply and she leaned forward to capture the head of his cock on between her lips. He hadn’t expected her mouth and he groaned a broken curse as he pushed himself deeper, her tongue swirled as she grazed him lightly with her teeth. He hissed and replaced the curve of his hook under her chin. 

“Do that again,” he ordered, jaw tight. She did as he asked before hollowing her cheeks and pulling him deeper, taking charge once more until his hand tightened in her hair, pulling her from him. His hook still under her chin, her eyes glassy, he released her hair, thumb swiping at the corner of her mouth, before whispering a directive to lay down. She watched him for a moment, chest heaving before slowly lowering herself back against the quilt. 

“You want me?” he asked, voice dark as his accent thickened the words. She nodded, too worked up to reply as the sight of him heated her blood. He raised his hook, running it lightly up the inside of her calf, stopping just at her knee, “you want this?” The curve pressed into her skin, sharp tip grazing against her carefully. The sound which came from her was half whine half plea and he boldly crawled on top of her, the cool metal sliding ever higher. She tried to open her legs further, to encourage him upwards to where she needed him most, but he straddled her thighs and growled a warning to be still.

He continued his slow, delicious torture of her skin as she lay stretched out before him, writhing and breathless. Small trails of pink followed the press of his hook and she strained her hips up once more into the air between then, canting and twisting in desperate need. She had started to recite his name as he dipped his head, dragging the metal back down her belly, leaving a track of raised gooseflesh in its wake, and blowing a cool stream of air lightly on her clit. Emma bowed off the bed, and he clicked his tongue in admonishment, before pressing his mouth to her. 

“With everything that has happened,” he whispered against her centre, voice quiet and raw as if imparting a great secret, “we’ve never discussed one fact.” She whined and writhed once more against the heated metal of his hook, wet from her arousal and deliciously slick between her folds. 

He pulled the curve away from her before continuing, dragging the tip once again up the inside of her thigh, across the smoothness of the crease where her leg met her centre, a faint red line rising in its wake. She keened at the contact but held impossibly still, eyes closed tightly against the instinct to cant her hips towards him. The fresh bite of pain pulled a whine from her throat and she repeated his name like a prayer. “I was a villain.” 

“Killian, please!” 

“And villains,” the tip scored lightly up over her right hip and swirled around her nipple before pressing the tip very carefully to the taught bud. She exhaled sharply, eyes holding his with a challenge that she could take this, that she wanted it and that she was his; _she trusted him._ His fingers sank into her heat, curling twice before she cried out and came sharply, pulsing tightly around him, “don’t get happy endings.” 

“You’re not a villain,” she moaned a harsh whisper as she rode her own high, head rolling to the side as she reached for him, eyes soft and glassy. 

“Perhaps not anymore,” he captured her wrists easily and pinned them above her head with his hook. Shifting, he settled solidly in the cradle of her legs, rubbing himself against her, teasing the head of his swollen cock against her entrance as she gasped and writhed beneath him. His body was tense and the hair he needed to get trimmed fell across his forehead and into his eyes. Emma was a vision, needy and desperate; she twisted and pushed herself into him, grinding up whenever she found purchase against the tiny bundle of nerves that made her cry out as her eyes rolled back. 

She was wet as he pushed slowly into her, muscles still contracting in the aftermath of her orgasm. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed for a moment by the feel of her. Her legs cradled him as she strained against the hold of his hook, fingers curling against the metal still wet with her arousal. She moaned as he seated himself fully inside of her, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin under her jaw, “but it’s a stark reminder...” 

He pulled himself from her nearly entirely before bottoming out once more, swallowing her cry with a heated kiss. The joy he had found in the freedom of loving her was coupled with the sheer terror of losing this, and his pace increased until he felt her come apart once more underneath of him, his name on her lips. He freed her hands and they wrapped lethargically around his neck, holding him to her. 

He switched his weight to free his hand, and he caught the side of her face in his palm, thumb caressing the swell of her cheek as he shuddered to a finish inside of her, his voice just barely above a whisper. “That it’s only a matter of time before I lose mine.” 

Killian moved to pull away from her, to take the heaviness of the moment from between them, but her fingers tightened on his shoulders and she was watching him with tears glistening in her eyes, “wait,” she whispered, relaxing her fingers when he stopped moving. “If you’re afraid of losing your happy ending,” she searched his face, eyes wide, “that means you found it.” Her words were a quiet breath between them, warm on the cool of his skin. Her voice shook slightly, emotion welling close to the surface. “What is it?” 

His head pulled back marginally to look at her, the thought of losing her clutching painfully around his heart. “Don’t you know, Emma?” His thumb caressed her cheek once more as he shook his head sadly. “It’s you.” 

They stared at each other for a long moment, a lone tear tracked slowly down her cheek and he captured it on his thumb. She pulled him down to her, kissing him slowly, hands buried through his hair. More tears tracked down her face and his heart hammered in his chest. 

“No one will take this from us,” she whispered, a pledge against the darkness which had threatened to engulf him. “I love you, Killian.” 

They had fallen asleep, tangled together on top of the quilts, and had awoken hours later, shivering and huddled against each other in the dark room. He had coaxed her, grumbling and beautifully mussed, underneath the covers after gently cleaning her then himself with a strip of cloth. 

“Here, let me,” her sleepy voice had stopped him as her hands reached toward him, closing around his brace.

She had taken the hook from his brace before unbuckling it, her fingers grasping the cool metal solidly before twisting it free from its hold. She had lifted her chin at him, a sly grin replacing the sleepy expression as she brought the metal to her mouth and swiped her tongue across it; his body responding in spite of his exhausted state. She winked at him before settling herself back down under the blankets, brace thudding solidly on the floor where he had tossed it, and wiggled her backside against his hips. 

“I’m sorry.” His words were shrouded against the stillness of the night and she twisted immediately in his arms. 

“I want all of you, Killian. We don’t need to hide from each other, not anymore.” 

* * *

House hunting was exhausting.

She had felt torn, looking for something more permanent in this land away from her family, but in the end, they needed their own space. And as nice as it was to dream about once again curling up in front of the television in her parent’s loft, the reality of their situation was impossible to ignore. 

They had toured several prospective lodgings without success and Emma had started to give up hope that they would find something that would feel comfortable enough to settle into. They had visited three small apartments in the sleepy town of Stornoway, as well as half a dozen farms, which had small crofts built on the property. Killian and Alec had discussed one night, rum flowing heartily between them, the possibility of building a small cottage on the farmstead, and as much as Emma would miss them, that wasn’t a long term solution and they all knew it. 

Killian had been excited, wide awake as soon as the sun broke across the horizon. She had pushed her hips back into him in a sleep laden attempt to coax him back under the covers. She had mumbled against his cheek as he placed a kiss to hers that if he stayed, she could guarantee him a happy ending. Confusion had clouded his eyes for a moment and she had been forced to explain the difference between a happy ending and _a happy ending_ , blushing furiously, _we need to get you urban dictionary,_ as his grin got smuger and his eyes danced with mischief. He had coaxed her, after the promise of hot tea and a berry scone, from the warm comfort of their nest and into the barn where he saddled Saoirse with quick efficiency as Emma shared small pieces of her baked treat with the horse. 

The morning was bright and the wind was gentle as Killian pulled her up behind him, settling further into the deep saddle and nudging the mare through the gate at a steady walk. The sun was warm with the promise of an early summer and Emma leaned her cheek against Killian’s back, enjoying the slight shift and pull of his muscles as he guided Saoirse up a narrow, lesser used trail, the gentle roll of the ocean in the distance nipping at her ears. 

“I thought,” he called back to her, his voice half swallowed by the wind whipping around them, “we might enjoy something with a view of the sea.” 

His words carried on the wind and Saoirse tossed her head against the salty scent of the sea as they crested the small hill. The trail swept down towards the cliff’s edge, and she was mesmerized momentarily by a flock of gulls circling overhead crying out as they soared upwards in the cool breeze before disappearing from view once more. The cottage gleamed white against the roll of the ocean, a small two story structure with a yard of flowers topped by a thick thatched roof. A fire had been lit and clouds of woodsmoke circled lazily from the red clay chimney before being carried up the hill away from the sea. 

Emma had been struck with a sudden image of herself hanging laundry in the yard, her hair blowing lightly as the sun streamed down on her, warm and welcoming, watching over the shoulder at the small patch of grass just visible over the fence. She shook her head and blinked several times, but the vision of her own wide, soft smile as she gazed at something- someone- beyond her task remained burned into her memory. 

She had the solid feeling of finding solid ground after scrambling for purchase on uneven terrain for so very long. Her whole life she had run away, looking for somewhere to want to go back to, and here, standing solid on the edge of the world, gulls fleeting overhead and Killian’s warm solidness against her front, she had found it. 

“It’s perfect,” she breathed, tucking her chin into his shoulder. 

He smiled brilliantly at her then, eyes startlingly blue against the sea beyond the cliff.

“Welcome home, love.” 


	9. Liam's Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!  
> Because (apparently) I need to 'work', I'm changing my posting schedule to bi-weekly.  
> I'm SO EXCITED for the chapter, it's been a true labour of love to pull together and I hope you all adore it as much as I do ❤  
> Special thanks to @elizabeethan for being the most amazing friend and beta'ing this monster of a story, I love you babe. @donteattheappleshook - I'm so glad fandom brought us together, you are the best!  
> And a huge THANK YOU to everyone who is reading this Tale, it means so much to me that you actually like it :)

**The Ripple Effect**

_\- A Captain Swan Tale by TheDarkDragonfly -_

* * *

Her feet had carried her down the steep path to the sea. The pull and roll of the waves breaking across the pebbled beach echoed in her heart and she couldn’t stop herself from walking to the water’s edge, the lap of the tide snapping at her leather boots. Her name broke through the hypnotic rhythm of the sea and she glanced over her shoulder, hair whipping around her like a veil of golden fire in the salt spray wind. He stood above her, allowing her this moment alone with the waves; a moment to simply stand at the edge of something much larger than herself. A moment to feel utterly alone and yet entirely at peace. 

If anyone was to understand the call of the water, it was Killian. 

The sea had always calmed her, had always made her feel settled, at peace. _At home._ She had sat for hours, escaping the claustrophobic uncertainty of Storybrooke on a bench facing the water. She turned it over in her mind as she climbed the cliffside path back up to where Killian was standing, tall and sure against the wail of the wind, her feet slow and unwilling to leave the pull of the waves behind. His palm reached down towards her as she crested the top of the cliff, warm and safe against her own. 

He guided her several steps back away from the edge, sweeping his arm out ahead of him to allow her through the small stone gateway first. She turned to him then, their cottage to her back and the sea to his, silence comfortable and calm between them as she squeezed his fingers, _I love you_ , her words caught on the wind and swirled around them, the light from the sun catching the bright blue in his eyes, lighting them in that particular way that had always made her feel safe and here and _home_. 

The deep, rich blue of the sea. 

* * *

“Thank you,” his voice was graveled with emotion as his hand stilled for a moment before continuing to caress the back of her head as she sat curled against his chest, legs hanging over the arm of the chair, feet warm from the glow of the fire. Emma’s head rose up slowly, eyes unfocused for a moment before blinking up at him. They had been like this, alone finally in a place that was only theirs, for the entire evening. 

It had been a busy day, and as they sat in the warmth of the fire, Killian had thought perhaps she had fallen asleep. Emma and Fiona had been bustling around since early morning, cleaning and stocking the home with essentials to keep them comfortable for a few nights as she and Killian sorted through the unfamiliar territory of building a home with someone else for the first time. 

“Do you like them?” 

He hummed, fingers working the strands of her hair through the thick of the braid. “I do,” he replied, voice quiet against the summer rain falling against the windows. “Though,” his voice dipped conspiratorially and his eyes crinkled playful in the corners, “it seems we may only have needed one.” 

She laughed then and pressed herself closer to him, head resting against his throat. She stroked the chain around his neck for a moment before lifting the small ring which hung at the end, turning it carefully before sliding it absently onto her fingers. His breath hitched at the sight and he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. 

“Guess so,” she agreed, a smile colouring her voice. 

Emma had found the matching chairs in town the day after they had bought the cottage. Killian and Alec had left laden with tools early that morning, leaving herself and Fiona to head into Tyneside for supplies enough to stock the small home. 

The small pouch of coins she had earned from helping Alec with the warehouse finances had been just enough to procure them and she and Fiona had loaded them into the wagon with great effort. The chairs were large and, as they pulled up at the gate to the white cliff-side cottage, Emma had a moment of panic that they wouldn’t fit through the doorway let alone in the living room. But they had fit and she smiled widely when Killian found her, lounging dramatically in the one she had deemed ‘hers’ waiting for him to come in from the barn. His voice had carried clearly from the kitchen as the heavy wooden door clicked shut solidly behind him. He had come through the narrow doorway, tired and covered in a light sheen of sweat after fixing the rails in the paddock. 

He had looked at her, eyes searching and so very bright in the summer sun setting brilliantly over the sea outside the window. “This one is mine,” she claimed as she slapped the arms of the chair, a smile sweeping across her face as his eyebrow ticked. “That one,” she raised her own brow and inclined her chin slightly towards the matching wingback settled next to hers across the fire, “is yours.” 

He was quiet for a moment, hand running against the tall curved back of the chair, caressing the heavy upholstery under his fingers. He bite his lip, fingers digging slightly into the corner before relaxing again and moving around to settle into it for the first time. 

“Did Fiona and Alec leave already?” she asked after a long moment, the silence of the room settling around them comfortably. He nodded, flexing his back and shoulders, the bones and joints popping and clicking as he moved. “Oh, I didn’t get to say goodbye.” 

Her voice was soft and almost sad as he unbuckled the leather brace, tossing it to the floor beside him with a satisfying thud. “They’ll be back tomorrow, Swan.” He held out his hand, the distance between them nothing at all. She had pushed away from her chair, settling herself against him. 

“I’m tired,” she yawned, hiding it against his chest and he stroked her hair. 

“Aye,” he agreed, eyes closing, the comfort of having her tucked safety against him was heedy and he knew if they didn’t move now, they would be here for the night. “Bed?” 

He could feel her nod slowly against his chest. “I put clean sheets on earlier,” she yawned again, not bothering to hide the motion this time, “and Fiona gave us the quilts from our room at the farm.” Her head fell back onto his throat with a solid thump. “I didn’t realize how tired I was, I don't think I can move,” she laughed. 

He had to agree with her. They had been up with the sun, something Emma wasn’t fond of, and had stopped only for sustenance in their quest to move into their new home as soon as possible. 

“Alright, love. Bed.” He suppressed a yawn of his own before pushing up out of the chair, causing her to shriek and grasp his wrist that was curled under her knees. 

“Wait!” she laughed as he moved swiftly towards the doorway which led to the short hallway down to their bedroom. “The candle!” 

He sighed in mock annoyance, spinning to carry her back to the fireplace so that she should blow out the offending flame. 

“Don’t huff at me, do we need to discuss fire safety again?” she asked haughtily as he once more carried her towards the open door. He hadn’t bothered answering her; he had been hearing all about _fire safety_ since they had crash landed in this land nearly one year ago.

Four long strides and they were in front of their bedroom, Emma kicked the door open as if she had been doing it her whole life. The room was warm from the fire she had started hours before, though it had burned down to a smoldering heat now, the heavy peat scenting the air with fire and earth. The window was open, curtains billowing inwards, a faint roar of the ocean against the cliffs rumbled low like the sound of a distant army. 

The bed was covered in the familiar quilt from the bed they had shared for the last eight months, patchworked and worn, it had sheltered them from the world. Killian had a sudden memory of Emma, laying bare on that quilt, one afternoon when the snow was too deep to work and they had retreated to their quiet nest, away from the bustle of the kitchen. Her hair had been a mass of tangled curls, freshly dried from a bath. Her legs rose behind her, toes pointed and ankles crossed, as she lounged on her stomach. She was humming, elbows bent beneath her, reading the novel he had started the evening before. They had started racing each other, bits of ribbon marking their respective places, each outwitting and outmaneuvering the other to win the coveted prize of _bragging rights._ She had started to play dirty, however, and that had not been the first time he had found her, naked and distracting and _so incredibly beautiful._

Killian blinked, the vision of her retreating into his heart once more. He wanted to remember _this moment_ , to burn it so entirely into his soul. The memory of their first night together in their home. A solid foundation to build a life together; not merely a ship or a car. They had both spent their lives in vessels meant for endless wandering, but here, they had something permanent, something strong and safe and unmovable. 

She sank to her knees before him, the small fire crackling behind her casting an ethereal light around the small room, nimble fingers working the buckles on his boots loose and tugging them off his feet as he sighed in relief. His hand reached to help her off the floor, the view of her before him mixing his thoughts entirely. She didn’t take his palm, instead she simply batted his hand away and plucked the laces of his trousers loose, eyes flicking up to his quickly, watching him from under her lashes. “Thank you,” she breathed, her eyes mesmerizing and fathomless in the dark, her cheek resting on his thigh as her hands ran down his legs. 

He didn’t have a chance to respond as she tugged his pants down his legs and pushed him back onto the bed. Her name came out a broken mangled groan as the flat of her tongue boldly swiped the length of him, her fingers wrapping around his hips to keep him in place as she settled between his legs. 

His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing so loudly in his ears that it all but drowned out the world, everything except him and her, alone with everything they would ever truly need. 

The sharp scrap of teeth, her fingers tightening on his skin, his hand holding her to him while his breath came out harsh and fast as she swallowed against his length, deep and hot inside of her. She repeated the motion twice more before pulling back for air, tongue swirling across this tip of his cock, taking him deeply again.

She would surely be the death of him, and he gasped a lungful of air as he felt the faint press of her teeth once more. 

Emma pressed her thighs together before lowering her left hand to tease herself as he watched, eyes hooded. He pulled her gently, her cheeks hollowed as he moved her head back away, a stubborn gleam in her eyes. 

“For what, my love?” he exhaled the words as if they pulled from the very depth of his soul. Killian gritted his teeth against the baser instinct to simply pull her onto him, to bury himself so far down her throat she would never forget the taste of him. Her breath ghosted across him, over sensitive from being in her mouth only a moment ago. 

“For bringing me home.” 

Killian had taken precious little when he had left the _Jolly Roger_ for the last time. He had been at sea when the bird landed on his ship, a carrier pigeon similar to those they had carried onboard during his naval days, whose black beady eyes sought him out across the deck. The light ticking of the small bird’s talons clicked faintly against the wood of the wheel and he had had a sudden sense of deja vu; of standing in this place a lifetime ago, on another sea in another land. Reading news of a wedding interrupted by an Evil Queen with a vendetta of revenge. 

A hastily scrawled note had made his blood run cold for a moment and his fist had tightening against the small blue vile. 

_A choice, which wasn’t a choice at all._

He had ordered fresh water and grain for the small creature, ensuring Smee held the exhausted bird with great care, before bellowing to the crew below him. Hand and hook grasp the wheel and the ship shivered with excitement while his blood sang to life once more. 

The sails had snapped as they pulled at the rigging like a restrained beast against the will of the wind. His bones echoed with every toll of the bell across each swell of the sea which was bringing him closer back to her. _Emma_. He had not uttered a word since his voice had lashed across the deck. His eyes settled on the horizon which would take him away from here. 

The crew tied the ship against the dock, the familiar sound of water lapping against the wood both calming and melancholy. Killian had stayed at the helm until the last of his crew had stumbled gleefully down the lowered gangway. Grim faced and determined, he had riffled through his quarters- a room which had been his since Liam had died in his arms. A room he had shared with Milah, all those years ago. A room in which he had sat, shrouded in anger and grief and gut wrenching pain after the loss of them both. 

Small trinkets, haphazardly set on the shelf above his bed, were shoved carelessly aside as he reached for Liam’s journals. 

His safe had been next. Emptying the small pouches of coins and jewels into the bottom of his leather satchel, he had held the small ring in the palm of his hand for a moment, before tucking it away safely. A few other mementos were shoved inside the satchel, his movements quickening as he felt the press of time weighting against him like he hadn’t felt in centuries. Killian grasped the last item, a small shell which fit into the palm of his hand. He held it for a moment and allowed himself the reminder of a selfish decision, before replacing it and stepping back and locking the small safe once more.

He had breathed in the familiar scent of wood polish and wax, the linger of rum and ink which hung around him like a haze, committing to memory the feel of his _Jolly_. She had rippled with enchantment under his feet as he walked across the decking, an acknowledgement perhaps that their time together was drawing to a rapid end. She had heard him, desperate with drink and ravaged by memory, his grief seeping into her walls. He had held the wheel once more, hand smoothing over the letters he had carved into her wood all those many years ago- the only time he had ever marked her in anger. 

He had said nothing; the words he wanted to whisper to her forming in his heart were swallowed by the press of emotion against his chest. His _Jolly_ understood. _She knew what this was costing him and she knew why the price must be paid._ His words were not necessary. 

The satchel hung heavy on his shoulder as he stepped onto the gangplank, fingers tracing the edge of the gunwale once more. Hesitating for another moment, committing the feel of her under his feet to memory, nodded once and strode down the ramp for the last time. 

“This is new,” her fingers had danced across his chest, teasing small circles with her nails, stopping to pluck the silver ring with the small garnet stone from over his heart. 

“Aye,” his voice was a breath above a whisper in the silent comfort of their own bedroom. 

He had not worn it before, the small metal circle feeling far too heavy and burdened with pain on his hand. But it had fallen into his palm when he upended the soft leather satchel onto the bed- their bed, in their own home- and the weight of it felt lighter somehow, so he had strung it from a chain and held it against his heart. The charms he had worn for more than half his life had been tucked away, another reminder of a life he no longer wanted. 

He waited for a moment, breath shallow. _Waited for her to ask_ , although he knew she wouldn’t, his heart beating faster with the excitement of sharing this part of himself, a part he had locked away for so very long. “It belonged to a better man than I, my brother Liam,” he swallowed thickly against the words, the name of his beloved brother still thick against his throat, centuries later. 

She leaned up on her elbow and kissed him, lips lingering on his for a long moment before pulling away slightly, fingers tracing down the line of his jaw. “There is no better man than you, Killian.” 

He had smiled softly, almost shy in the evening glow, watching the green of her eyes spark with the snapping of the fire. 

She pulled away from him then, slipping from the bed, feet dancing across the cool stone floor to settle another log onto the fire. 

“We’ll need more,” he frowned, voice low as he spoke the words more to himself. Emma turned to him, skin warm as gold in the casting flames, forehead scrunched in question. “Firewood I mean,” he clarified, reaching out to snag her wrist and pull her to him as she made her way to the bed. 

She hummed noncommittally and he ghosted his fingers across her ribs, tickling her lightly. 

“We’ll need enough for-” 

She cut him off, eyes flashing, her hand pressed flat against his mouth, “don’t you dare say winter, Jones.” 

He watched her, a smirk pulling against her palm, as her eyes narrowed in warning. His teeth nipped quickly on her skin and he pulled her to him as she gasped, releasing his mouth. “When it gets cold.” 

She growled and he laughed, capturing her mouth once more. 

* * *

“You’re full of surprises today, love.” His voice startled her; she had been humming a tune he had come to recognize as he leaned against the doorway, watching her rearrange the items on the shelf in front of her twice before he spoke. 

The house had been in need of a thorough dusting which had kept Emma and Fee busy for the last two days as he and Alec set about fixing the barn. She whipped around at the sound, glass jar of pickled carrots tight in her grip. 

“Aye,” she grinned as she mimicked his accent. It had been chilled in the cellar and the braid he had tied for her that morning hung heavily across her neck as she wiped down the shelves to dutifully stocked the small pantry with random jars and groceries Fiona handed to her through the small doorway. Ceramic crocks full of whiskey stood proudly, polished and gleaming in the dim light of the lantern. 

“Would you like to see mine?” his eyes gleamed as she attempted a scandalized expression before he laughed and pulled her from the room. Fiona smiled indulgently as they tumbled through the sun-lit kitchen, giggling like small children, hands clasped together. 

She had been pottering around the cottage with Emma for the last few days, baking and cleaning and tutting at the state of the hearth. Emma had felt a wave of gratitude for the woman who had come to mean so much to her, as they stood side by side at the sink the day before, washing the new dishes Emma had bought. 

Fiona was the mother she had never had, _the mother she never had the chance to have_. Between curses and villains and walls built from the ruins of a childhood she should never have had to endure, Emma had never truly felt that she could have a mother before Fiona. Her pulse had skipped as a curl of shame unfurled to snip at her heart; she had a mother, a mother who only wanted another baby. _No_. Emma stamped the feeling out, chasing the cold, cruel voice away. _That wasn’t fair._

She tripped over the uneven fieldstone pathway, catching Killian’s arm to right herself by instinct. He had teased her yesterday, when she had tripped over the same uneven rock thrice before lunchtime, that she would make a hopeless sailor if her sea legs were anything like her land ones. She had huffed and marched off away from him, taking his lunch with her as he laughed between apologies and finally caught her around the waist, face buried in her neck, _I think we’ve established I'm rather fond of your legs, love,_ until she forgave him. 

Alec had been almost impressed with the state of the outbuildings, though his assessment of the barn was that it was in need of some work, _the roof’ll hold fe the win’er, but the floor is shite, we best start there, lad._ Emma had smiled into her tea, amused as she always was by the nickname. 

Killian’s hand was warm in hers and he squeezed her fingers gently as he pulled her through the heavy hinged door into the cozy warmth of the barn. Her eyes adjusted easily to the dimmed light, the shutters had been propped wide open to allow both the sun and the cool sea breeze through the space. She smiled at him as he glanced at her over his shoulder, flecks of sawdust in his hair. She reached up to brush her fingers through it, dragging her nails across his scalp, the strands soft and in need of a cut. 

“None o’that while I’m ‘er, lass,” Alec’s voice came from the other side of the stall, clipped and teasing. Emma rolled her eyes and finally looked around. They had been busy replacing floorboards which had rotted through, strengthening the shutters which faced the cliffs, the wind having ripped several off the old hinges. 

“It looks amazing,” she whispered, almost afraid to disturb the quiet peace of the space. Alec emerged then, wiping his hands on a rag and tossing the cloth over the stall rail. 

“Aye,” he nodded, a small smile tugging stubbornly on the corner of his mouth. Emma looped her arm around his and leaned into him in thanks. Alec wasn’t like Fiona, he wasn’t all soft edges and easy smiles, but he held a special kind of place in her heart. His hand patted her a few times as she took in all of the work that had happened since they moved into this home, before nodding towards the corner. 

Her brow had furrowed as she caught a glance of a stall that was latched closed, fresh bedding straw scattered out haphazardly from under the door. She glanced at Killian, her hand leaving Alec’s arm as she stepped away from both men. There was tack hanging from new pegs on the wall and a fresh coat of white paint on the door showcased Killian’s sweeping black ink lettering. _Saoirse._ Her fingers traced the font as a large, familiar nose popped over the stall door, the mare’s soft nickering caused her throat to tighten. Emma stroked the horse’s nose and whispered to her, nonsense words full of hope and love and _home_. 

“But,” Emma had turned to look between Alec and Killian before bringing her attention back to the large creature. “But,” she started again, hands resting now on the mare’s throat, “she’s your horse…” 

“No, lass,” Alec’s voice had been uncommonly soft and she felt her breath hitch, catching in her chest as he met his eyes, the usually sharp grey pools soft and watery as he shook his head. “She belongs here, with you.”

* * *

“Aye, that’s it,” he nodded, watching her wield the blade with careful precision. “Careful now, love, it wouldn’t do for each of us lose a limb.” 

She smiled and shook her head before letting the blade fall sharply on the log, the crack split of the wood and the thud of the blade in the block. Emma grinned over her shoulder and pulled the axe free with a tug. “This is fun,” she breathed, excitement colouring her cheeks. 

“Well, Swan,” he lifted an eyebrow at her and set another log on the block to await the edge of the blade “I’m glad to hear it.” 

She let the blade fall again, the thrill of the task tickling against her heart. It was ridiculous, she knew that, but the feel of the axe cutting through the dried timber was wholesome in a way she had never expected to experience. It felt grounding, much the same as kneading dough on an early morning, standing barefoot on the cold stone floor of their small kitchen, the way her hair was tied in a thick lumpy braid and half falling into her eyes. Killian would return through the stooped doorway from feeding Saoirse and the chickens, rosy cheeked from the breeze and the trudge up the steep hill to the stable. 

“Seeing as we have a whole winter’s worth of wood to split,” he smirked at her and set yet another log on the thick block. 

“Good,” she said, raising the axe once more over her head, “this is fun.” Her tone held a hint of challenge which he neatly ignored, enjoying the twist of annoyance on her mouth before she schooled her features once more. 

“I’ll check on you in an hour, shall I? See if it’s still fun.” 

She didn’t last the hour, the amusement of hauling the wood back and forth from the small shed wore thin after a dozen trips, so she had leaned the axe against the fence and wandered up to the barn, yanking handfuls of sweet tall grass as she went, whistling and clicking her tongue for Saoirse. 

They had bought a cart load of logs in preparation for the chill of the winter. It had arrived with very little ceremony two days prior, dumped out of the wagon at the end of the small drive and left to be bucked up. It had been cut down two years prior and left to dry and Killian had determined it would make excellent firewood. It sounded like a simple task- like most things on a farm did before you actually had to do them- and she had been oddly excited to stack it neatly in the shed against the house. 

They had not fully moved into the cottage before Killian had expressed concern over how much wood they would need to last the winter, and said he would feel better having at least a good store in the shed before fall. He and Alec had found a man in Tyneside with a lumber business and had purchased a load immediately. 

“Giving up?” He called as he leaned against the barn door. 

“No,” she tossed her hair over the shoulder as she dug through the chicken roosts for eggs. “Just taking a well deserved break.” 

“You only split half a dozen logs, love.” 

“Half a dozen more than you,” she quipped back, carefully placing another two eggs in her basket. He chuckled low and stalked towards her, pressing her back against the stall wall, sliding the basket from her hand to set it aside before burying his hand in her hair. Emma gasped and pulled him to her, kissing him solidly, fingers twisted into the open neck of his shirt. Legs wrapped around his waist as her skirts bunched between them. He took her fast and hard against the thick wall of the barn, her sharp cries echoing across the timber frame as he spilled himself inside her.

The bitter dry scent of straw still lingered in his lungs as he drifted off to sleep that night, Emma’s warm body tight against his. 

* * *

“My shoulders hurt.” She had collapsed on her chair, sinking down into the soft material, arms splayed out over the padded sides. 

“You didn’t need to split all the wood, you stubborn lass,” his voice was soft yet exasperated, as it had been since he had found her earlier that evening. 

She had made a sound like a small dying creature and he slid his arms under her, hoisting her up. 

“Bed for you, I think,” he whispered gently into her hair. She nodded into his chest as he closed the distance to their bed chamber in a few long strides, placing her down into the nest of blankets. 

“Bath?” she asked in a small, tired voice and he smiled as he pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“I’ll boil the water, love. Why don’t you rest a bit, aye?” 

He had tipped several steaming kettles into the basin while she slept, the rush of the water loud in the quiet room. 

He had returned home later than he expected, having stopped in town to collect milled oats for breakfast the next day, to find Emma stubbornly splitting firewood with the frenzy of a woman possessed. He had dismounted the mare before she had come to a full stop, throwing himself off of her at the sight of Emma. She was windswept and glistening with sweat, hair free from a braid she had obviously tied hours before. He hurried over to her, taking the axe from her grip carefully and spinning her towards him, examining the red blisters forming on her palms. A plethora of carnage lay around her, stripped bark and chunks of wood scattered around, an explosion born of determination and stubbornness. 

“I’m almost done,” she announced, hands red and angry between his own. He was speechless, staring at her helplessly before marching her into the house and sitting her in one of their large wingback chairs.

He ran his hand down his face, silent laughter bubbling up unexpectedly in his chest. His shoulders shook with silent tremors and she grinned up at him, victory gleaming in her exhausted eyes. _Wait here,_ his voice was tight with exasperated amusement as he held a finger up to her before striding from the room only to return a moment later with a fresh chemise and her robe. He undressed her tenderly, breath warm on her neck, his fingers pulling the laces with quiet reverence; as if he didn’t assist her with this very task each day. 

He had teased her the night previous as they were cleaning up the kitchen from dinner, nipping at her neck as he took a dish from her to dry. Murmuring against her skin that she hadn’t split all the firewood yet and she had scowled at him, flicking water at his chest from the wash basin. 

_He should have known._

He should have guessed that she would take that as a challenge; would half kill herself to prove a point. 

“Swan-” he tried to control his laughter long enough to scold her, but the grin on her face widened and she poked her tongue into the corner of her mouth before he could find the words he was looking for. 

“I told you I wasn’t giving up.” 

“Aye, you did.” There was nothing more to say and he wrapped her hands in cool cloths before lighting the stove for dinner. 

Steam curled into the late evening air, the aroma from the oil he had added permeated their small cottage, he could smell the orange blossom, floral and soft, from the kitchen as he refilled the flask to bring it with him into the bedroom. Emma was still asleep, collapsed in an exhausted heap on top of the covers, clothes half shucked off as she had buried into her nest. He pressed a kiss to her throat and her eyes fluttered open, _come, love, let’s clean you up_ , and he hoisted her again into his arms after pulling the soft chemise from her with care. He had removed his brace before dinner, the muscles of his forearm tight and tired from the ride. 

She sighed as he lowered her into the tub, settling her towards the front of the large basin shedding his clothes quickly and joining her, pulling her towards his chest, cradling her tired body between his legs. She floated boneless against him as he ran his hand across her arm and up her knotted shoulder. 

“You,” he kissed her shoulder softly, the sharp taste of salt on his tongue, before dragging a cupped palm of hot water across the exposed skin, washing the sweat from her, “are the most,” he kissed her other shoulder, “stubborn and utterly maddening woman,” he wrapped his left arm around her middle and pulled her tighter to himself to scratch his beard across her neck, making her shiver in spite of the heat. “That I have ever known.” 

She hummed a response, body limp against his. 

They remained that way until the water cooled, the washcloth discarded somewhere at the bottom of the tub, Emma’s skin scrubbed clean, the scent of rose petals fresh in her hair. Trading ships from Camelot were frequently at the docks during the summer months, and he had been able to stockpile small gifts away for Emma to surprise her with during the next winter. The pink rose infused soap was a delightful discovery and she had clutched it to her nose for several long minutes when he presented it to her the day they moved in, after she had hopped the side of the tub which sat in front of the fireplace in their bedchamber, grinning up at him, skirts a tangled mess on the metal bottom, eyes warm and happy. 

“You’re hands, love…” he trailed off, face a mask of concern as he held her palm to examine the raised blisters threatening on her skin. 

“They’re fine,” she sighed. 

“Why did you do that, Emma?” his voice was still soft and quiet, but it held an edge of apprehension which clipped the syllables shorter than usual. She shrugged, tugging the towel closer around herself and feeling far more exposed than she was used to with him anymore. “Please,” he whispered, toying with the damp ends of her hair, “tell me.” 

The words slipped out of her, quiet and tired and somewhat embarrassed. It had felt childish to say out loud as her hands throbbed painfully despite the salve he had gently applied after drying her. A ripple of anger shivered through her and she lowered her eyes, watching the water swirl in the tub as it drained away, _if I only had magic_. How many times had she thought that, alone and quiet to herself over these last several months? At least a hundred, possibly a thousand, and still the snarking voice that belonged to a green skinned witch taunted her. _I won't need it._ She had said that, all smiles and snark and ill-placed optimism. 

Killian was quiet as she spoke, ushering her under the covers and tucking the quilt in around her shoulders the way he knew she liked when she was feeling scared and sad and vulnerable. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, love. Promise me.” 

She felt his lips ghost across her forehead as she squeezed her eyes shut. She nodded, letting go of whatever it was that had haunted her the whole day long. “I promise.” 

* * *

The saddle was sun warm and solid under her, and she had shifted experimentally to find her balance. Her riding trousers squeaked against the leather each time she moved and she caught Killian trying desperately to bite down on a grin. She rolled her eyes at him and gathered up the reins, like she had seen him do so very often. 

“Now,” he stated, a hint of the commanding captain’s voice clipping his words in a vain attempt to smother his smile, “I’ll be right here.” His hand settled on her calf and squeezed gently as the timber of his voice changed, “so you don’t need to be afraid.” 

Emma took a breath, swallowing against the instinct to deny her fear, to push ahead in the face of it, but she _was_ afraid and he knew it, and lying about it wouldn’t do either of them any good. So she simply nodded, flexed her fingers on the thick leather of the reins and gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile. He had a lead line attached to the bridle and he nodded back at her, offering adjustments as he led them both around the paddock. 

He had been pestering her for months- _at least sit on the horse, Swan-_ and she had finally exhausted her wide collection of excuses- _we don't have that kind of relationship, Killian, we’re perfectly happy the way we are._

The mid-summer sun was high and hot on the back of her neck and the movement of Saoirse under her was almost hypnotizing. The waves beat restlessly on the beach below them and Emma had a wild yearning to hold on to the mare below her and chase down to the sea. She swallowed against the urge to bellow a war cry the way they always did in the movies she used to like, to bend low over the neck of the animal and charge into the unknown. Killian’s low voice broke her out of her thoughts and she realized a moment later that they had stopped. He was watching her, pride and something else swimming openly in his eyes. 

“Again, Swan,” he replaced his hand on her calf, fingers tracing the slope of her muscle, “it would appear that you are a natural.” 

She smiled widely at him, the praise settling into the warm piece of her heart which now belonged to him, and when he asked if she would like to try it on her own, she had nodded and he leaned against the railing, watching her with rapt attention as she rode around the paddock. 

“I do hope you’re almost finished, love.” His eyes were the same colour as the sea as his back and the timber of his voice was low, rumbling across the space between them like the crash of the waves on the rocky shore. Emma shifted in the saddle, tongue swiping across her lower lip. 

“I am,” she replied, voice at once breathy and low. 

“Good,” he offered her a hand to dismount and caught her neatly as she hopped to the ground. Saoirse shook her head, bridle jingling before Killian caught the reins with his hook and wrapped his other arm around Emma, pulling her into his side. “I’ve watched you all afternoon, love,” he whispered in her ear, the scratch of his beard against her neck. “And I think it’s time you rode me.” 

“You do, do you?” she smirked, letting him suck a small mark into her neck at the entrance to the barn, pressed against the wooden frame, the scent of straw on the dusty air. 

“Aye,” it was a growl and he pressed himself against her, the feel of him hard against her stomach. 

“Well,” she placed a hand on his chest and pressed him away from her, his eyes black and hooded in the shadows. “I think you’ll find, Captain,” she purred as she pushed past him to take the horse to her stall, “that I am a natural at that, as well.” 

* * *

“It’s cold,” she said after a moment, watching the wind catch the ends of his hair, his wool coat clutched in her hand, awkward in the feeling of intruding on his privacy. 

The wind had snapped at the shutters, and the waves on the beach were angry rolls of white frothing against the shore. Emma stood on her toes and peeked over the gate, hands still wet from the basin of warm soapy water in the kitchen. The glass rattled between her and the gathering storm in the distance and she found Killian exactly where he had been sitting for the last half hour since wandering down to the water’s edge after helping her gather the sheets from the line. 

“We better bring in the washing, it’s going to rain” he had said, snapping closed his novel and pushing himself out of the chair. His abrupt declaration surprised her and she looked out the window to the sun shining brightly overhead. 

“Huh?” she asked, neck still craned, trying to see whatever it was that had alerted him to a change in the weather. 

“Come on, Swan.” 

“It’s like living with an omephascent weather station,” she grumbled and she followed him out the back door from the kitchen, bare feet curling into the grass. 

He hadn’t heard her approach, the crunch of the small pebbles swallowed by the crash of the waves. A storm was building, the heat of the day bringing towering clouds barreling towards them. The gulls had quieted, taking shelter in the cliffside against the approaching storm. He jumped slightly at her voice and smiled, taking the coat from her hand and placing it down beside him, gesturing in silent invitation. She plopped herself down and scooted closer, tucking her body in against his, the chill of the wind shivering across her skin. 

“The coat was for you to wear,” she laughed softly, head falling into his shoulder as the wind whipped her hair behind her, “not for me to sit on.”

“I’m fine, Swan.”

They sat together for a while longer, until the first wash of rain fell from the sky, a gentle pattering against the beach with a promise of the torrent behind it. Feet scrambling up the cliff, they clambered up the steep path, laughing and shrieking as they went. They reached the gate and he touched her lower back with his blunted wrist, urging her into the warm safety of the cottage as he headed to the barn, the shudders still open to the sea air. 

She turned back at the kitchen door, leaning against the frame to watch him walk up the well beaten path and latch the barn door closed, shoulders flexing as he pulled the heavy wooden slides shut. He had started to go longer and longer periods without his brace, and it had made her heart leap with unabashed joy to see him relaxed and free in their home. The rain was coming in sheets now, and he was soaked through by the time he made it back to the house, hair falling in his eyes as he tried to push the mass of wet strands from his vision. _Sit, you’re cold_ , she had pushed him down into a chair by the fire, and tutted at him and she wrapped a towel around his shoulders. 

She desperately wanted to ask what he had been thinking about, all alone by the sea, but she clamped down on the question that rose within her. He would tell her in his own time, when he was ready and if it was important. 

So instead, she combed her fingers through his hair and declared he needed a trim, before sweeping from the room to retrieve the sheers he had bought her to match the silver comb. 

* * *

The path to the hot spring was lush and grown-over with summer foliage as she pressed herself solidly to Killian’s back. They hadn’t been up the mountain in over a month, opting to spend time on the beach instead of submerged in the heat of the mountain hot spring. 

But when he had saddled Saoirse late that afternoon and waggled his eyebrows at her in question, she jumped up from weeding the garden to grab the sheets they used as towels. 

It was warmer than she remembered, Killian howled as soon as he hopped into the water, cursing Hades for the heat and crowding her back against the smooth rock side, whispering all manner of filth in her ear. She had wrapped her legs around him and as the sun set behind the wall of the shallow canyon, he spilled himself into her, the heat of him outweighing the heat of the water surrounding them and grounding her solidly in the present. 

She loved this place, and she whispered so in his ear as he breathed heavily into her neck, her hands running up and down his back, the familiar rise and fall of the ribbon-thin scars against her fingertips. He had warmed her here, all those months ago, when she felt she would never be warm or safe or comfortable again. He had loved her, patiently and steadily until there was nothing else between them. 

They stayed wrapped together until the sky had darkened before pulling themselves from the hot womb of the world, wet and steaming in the night. 

She had wrapped herself loosely in the blanket, the warmth from the sun soaked rock still holding the heat of the afternoon as evening fell around them, and she combed her fingers through her still damp hair. 

The stars were beginning to peek out against the darkening sky as Killian shifted again beside her. 

He had had the foresight to build the fire before they plunged into the still calmness of the spring, experience having taught them both the unpleasantness of having to build a fire wet-skinned and shivering after coming from the warm embrace of the pool. 

The fire warmed her skin, bathing them both in lapping heat from the flames. There was a tension around him the whole evening, and the more Emma tried to ignore it, the more it weighed on her. She had thought to give him space to come to her when he was ready. But he hadn’t. 

“Killian?” Her voice was calm and much too loud for the quiet surrounding them. The echo of her hesitation bounced against the canyon’s walls and settled back into her heart, heavy for a moment before she sat up and trailed a hand down his bare back. He relaxed under her touch, taking a long deep breath; seeming to settle himself for a moment. “What’s wrong?” 

He turned to her, ducking slightly to catch her hand, encouraging her palm to trace across his shoulder and over his throat. He hummed softly as she ghosted her knuckles lightly across his cheek, before he caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips, hot breath like fire across her already heated skin. 

“Nothing is wrong, Emma.” 

She shook her head, tilting her face towards him, “you’re worried about something.” Her green eyes were fathomless pools in the darkening light, and he suddenly remembered the first time he had been on the sea as a boy. The wonder and fascination coupled with the small ripple of fear, of the unknown. Of casting off into adventure. 

“No, love,” Killian smiled, thumb tracing across her knuckles, “I…” he trailed off, shifting to face her completely. “I love you, Emma Swan,” his voice was sure and steady and she felt a rush of warmth sweep across her body, as it always did when she was caught off guard by his affection for her. “And,” he started again, watching the small flickers of firelight cast off her features. 

“I know we face an uncertain future here, Emma. But there is one thing I want you to be certain of,” he pulled the chain from around his neck, his brother’s garnet ring hanging heavy between them, “that I will always, _always_ be by your side.” 

Tears pricked her eyes and her heart thudded wildly in her chest. She could taste the wine lingering on her tongue, the dry sweet liquid they had shared straight from the bottle while pressed tightly together in the depth of the pool. 

“Emma Swan,” he swallowed hard, his question suddenly seemed far too small for how much he loved her, “will you marry me?”

For the eternity of three heartbeats they sat unmoving, frozen in place by the weight of the answer she had yet to give him. He swallowed, sinking his teeth into his lip with the effort of waiting for her. 

“You are my heart, Killian.” Tears fell freely down her cheeks as he reached for her, swiping them away and kissing her tenderly. “I love you,” a sharp pain shot through her at the uncertainty which still lingered behind his half lowered lashes. She reached out, placing her palms on his face gently, titling his gaze to meet her once more. She let him watch her for a moment longer as if they have all the time in the world; let him see the truth of it. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

**Author's Note:**

> 😘
> 
> Obvi - don't own OUAT, and these characters aren't mine (pity, Killian and I would totes have so much fun together).
> 
> And a HUGE thank you hug to @Elizabeethan. I love you lady - you're AMAZING and the best Beta ever ❤❤


End file.
